


What Did You Think When You Made Me This Way?

by afterafternoons



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Barista Connor McKinley, Brief mention of sexual assault, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone's gay, Fake Dating, Kevin has a service dog!, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Retail Worker Kevin Price, Slow Burn, anxiety disorders, brief mentions of addiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25344448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterafternoons/pseuds/afterafternoons
Summary: By his father’s standards, Kevin was supposed to complete a successful two-year mission, and then follow in the footsteps of all the Price men before him at Brigham Young University, but his therapist attests it’d been a bit of an unmeetable quota all along and that Kevin can’t measure himself against what his brother’s have accomplished, because they’re not the same person.
Relationships: Arnold Cunningham/Nabulungi Hatimbi, Elder "Connor" McKinley/Kevin Price, Elder Church/Elder Thomas (Book of Mormon Musical)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

Following the termination of he and Arnold’s two-week Ugandan Mission and their subsequent excommunication from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints; Kevin Price remembers very little about their day’s worth of connecting flights back to the US. 

Mostly, Kevin had been strung out on the prescription of sleeping pills Gotswana had written him to get by, and without caffeine he’d been irritable and rude; and he vaguely remembers sitting with Arnold in the Amsterdam Airport Schiphol for a five hour layover, falling in and out of sleep on his former companions shoulder. Kevin knows he’d been short-tempered and heavy handed with his swearing, hitting Arnold with a few temperamental meltdowns. 

“We’re in god-fucking-knows what country, in god-fucking-knows what time zone.” He remembers whining, working the heels of his palms into his eyes as he’d sat with his head in his hands, bent over an uncomfortable lounge chair whilst he complained, and passerbys had looked on at his outburst as they went about their business, “And I just want to go home!” Looking back, he knows _now_ that they’d been in Amsterdam, and clearly on their way back to the States and that Arnold couldn’t just will time to move faster or in Kevin’s favor, but at the time this had all been muddled and beyond the realm of his understanding. 

Kevin had been in pain, but Arnold had been patient. He let Kevin bitch and moan about everything, and he willingly let Kevin fall asleep on his shoulder, and he made sure that Kevin didn’t just up and die somewhere between Uganda and Salt Lake City. 

Kevin was grateful for that; grateful for the fact that in spite of the hell they put one another through for the two weeks that had landed them where they are now, they’d still emerged, somehow, best friends; and Kevin meant that, sincerely. It’d be easy for him to displace the blame onto his companion, but logistically, Arnold hadn’t _really_ gotten them into this whole mess. He’d just done what he had thought was right at the time, picking up the pieces in the wake of Kevin’s first big blowout… and every subsequent one after that. 

(Kevin couldn’t fault Arnold for trying to enlighten the Ugandans, because it was more than he’d ever done.) 

After what had happened in Uganda, Kevin couldn't afford to be ignorant to the role he’d played in he and Arnold’s excommunication. Kevin had spent the better part of his initial companionship with Arnold dodging physical contact and dropping conversations. He’d strung Arnold along, let him believe they were best friends and when he hit rock bottom, he’d tried to leave without so much as a goodbye. In hindsight, Kevin knows that what he’d done was wrong, and really, all along some part of him had to have known too. He’d pushed back hard after his run-in with the General, tried to isolate himself from his District and his companion, and he’d tried to drown himself in copious amounts of Kimbay’s coffee. Still, at every turn, Arnold had met him where he was.

Arnold never once asked him to change, and it took Kevin a long time to see that clearly — to see the lessons he suspects Arnold had been trying to teach him all along. 

Kevin Price remembers very little about their day’s worth of connecting flights back to the US; but he remembers Arnold holding his elbow, dutifully guiding him to baggage claim even though Kevin wasn’t completely there and he knows Arnold had double and triple checked that he was leaving him in good, capable hands as he was passed off to his family. 

Kevin remembers his mom crying at the departure terminal, roping Arnold in for a hug, and blubbering into Arnold’s shoulder, “Thank you for bringing him home to us, Arnold. Thank you for bringing Kevin home.” Arnold, no doubt, had welcomed the hug, rubbing circles into her back until they parted ways — and they left Arnold with the sentiment that he was always welcome over for dinner as he wandered off in search of his own family. 

Carefully, Jack had taken over where Arnold had left off, leading Kevin back towards the family van, and Kevin didn’t speak about Uganda for a long time after that. Not until he started therapy.

* * *

Kevin sleeps in a lot later than he used to, and he spends large portions of his days in bed, even despite his father’s ridicule. No matter the cost, Kevin avoids any and all conversations about Uganda, even if this means that in doing so, he has to turn more cold shoulders on his family than he’d care too; but mostly, Kevin finds that he is numb. 

Everything Kevin’s been feeling culminates, somewhat unceremoniously, as he finds himself in the bathroom one night, nearing the bottom of the pill bottle Gotswana had given him. His older brother, Jack, talks incessantly around his toothbrush, unaware of Kevin’s current dilemma, and everything he’s saying falls on deaf ears. Instead, Kevin’s preoccupied, facing himself in the mirror for one of the first times in the month since Uganda, and conferring silently with his reflection. He needs to remedy his current pill problem, he and his reflection decide, if he wants to continue sleeping through the night. 

He leaves Jack in the bathroom — still in the middle of some story about his successful Toronto mission, made to make Kevin feel like he can open up to him about Uganda — in pursuit of his mother. “Hey,” He says softly, knocking his knuckles tentatively against the kitchen counter, and his mother nearly jumps out of her skin, her back turned to him as she loads the dishwasher. He falters briefly, the question he’d been meaning to ask, clearly answered, but he pushes it out anyway, “Are you busy?”

“No, not at all.” She assures him, quick to close the dishwasher and Kevin has half a mind to wonder if she’s only being attentive because this is one of the first conversations he’s openly sought out in the time since Uganda. 

“I need to fill a prescription.” He says, scratching at his eyebrow with his thumb, and he doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, but he suspects it has to do with trying to keep whatever’s left of his once positive reputation, “But, I don’t know if anyone will take the prescription they gave me in Uganda. I don’t… know how all of that works.” 

Kevin’s mother quirks her eyebrows together. This is the first she’s heard of her son taking any regular medication, and she holds out her hand for the bottle Kevin’s got locked in his grasp, “What for?” Reluctantly, Kevin hands over the bottle and he watches carefully as his mother turns it over in her hands. “Kevin, how many of these are you taking a day?”

“Just one.” He answers, almost too quickly, “Before bed, but I took two when we flew back, before each flight… I was confused by the whole time zone thing.” He laughs nervously, like it’s a joke, but swallows just as fast as his mother looks up at him, the worry clear in her eyes. 

“Kevin,” She frowns softly, and he knows almost instantaneously that some part of her is disappointed in him, “who prescribed these to you?” 

“Gotswana.” He replies, like she knows who that is. “He’s the doctor in Kitguli. I was… having hell dreams.” 

Kevin’s mother reaches up tentatively, to push his too long hair out of his eyes, wondering what happened overseas to her little boy and Kevin doesn’t immediately recoil from the touch, but he’s quick to shut it down when he can’t bear her motherly grooming any longer. “Kevin,” She says his name again, like it’s the only part of him she can hold close, like it’s the only thing leftover from the person she’d sent away two months prior, “do you know how addictive benzodiazepines can be? You’re not supposed to take these every day for two months.”

He laughs again, the ball of nerves turning over in his stomach, and he feels slightly scrutinized. His mother can’t possibly expect him to clue her into the full picture. She doesn’t know how bad it really is. “I’m not addicted.” He says dismissively instead, or maybe he’s just trying to keep himself from spiraling, “They help me sleep.”

“Do they help you sleep, Kevin?” She asks, repeating his name again as if he could forget it, as if he could forget who he is, or as if he’s already forgotten, and he’s starting to resent saying anything at all, “Or do they stop the night terrors?” 

Kevin shuts down, staring straight through her and there’s nothing more to say once you know you’ve lost a battle. He falters, knocking his knuckles against the counter again in silent resolution. If he were back in Uganda, back with former District Leader Elder Parker, he’d simply turn on his heel and make a show of slamming his bedroom door shut behind him; but he holds his family’s opinion much higher than that of his former District Leader. “Can I have them back?” He asks stiffly, and he swallows his nerves, gesturing to the clock on the stovetop, “I’d like to go to bed.”

“You can have one.” His mother forfeits, and she shakes the little blue pill into her hand, holding it out to her son. “But,” She says, and he knows there’ll be an obligation to follow, “I’m getting you into a therapist tomorrow, Kevin.” 

_Fine._ He thinks. _What’s the worst that could happen?_

* * *

It turns out, the worst that could happen, is having to rehash your trauma from it’s beginning to a complete and total stranger; and the beginning, for Kevin, he’s quick to learn, doesn’t exactly start with General Butt-Fucking-Naked. 

It starts with his parents, and their expectations. 

Kevin’s therapist, Henry, is patient as they sift through every burden Kevin’s ever carried, in fear of weighing anyone else down with his own personal problems; and more than this, Henry is kind, without being a pushover, and he holds Kevin accountable… and he gets Kevin off of those little blue pills Gotswana had prescribed. Kevin thinks Henry looks a little like Milo Thatch from the Atlantis movies, with his big wireframes and his somewhat vintage style and Henry really gets Kevin on a personal level, because they’re not that far apart in age, but Kevin never questions his qualifications and comes to trust him almost completely. 

In his first session, Kevin and Henry start at the beginning, and Henry helps Kevin into realizing why his parents are the way they are, and how their shortcomings have translated into keeping their children from making the same mistakes. 

Kevin has an older sister, Ellen, who his parents seldom mention after she’d disowned their family on her eighteenth birthday. Kevin was six-years-old. Ellen had been conceived out of wedlock, in turn forcing his parents to marry before their father’s mission to ultimately save face in both the eyes of his religious family and the Church, and Kevin’s mother was left alone for two years both a teen mom, and a teen bride, who hadn’t grown up in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, but was now trying to raise her first child by their teachings without her husband’s guidance. 

It was a lot, Kevin came to realize, to have thrust upon his parents so young and there were a lot of wrongs to be righted as they raised their kids, a lot of mistakes they didn’t want repeated, and Henry made sure Kevin was able to realize that his strict upbringing was in no way his fault. 

In time, Henry and Kevin break down all of his father’s unfair expectations; from molding Kevin into the perfect Mormon, the perfect son, and the perfect brother. Henry helps Kevin to realize why his “perfect” image had shattered with one mistake.

By his father’s standards, Kevin was supposed to complete a successful two-year mission, and then follow in the footsteps of all the Price men before him at Brigham Young University, but Henry attests it’d been a bit of an unmeetable quota all along and that Kevin can’t measure himself against what his brother’s have accomplished, because _they’re not the same person_. 

They touch on Kevin’s assault, a little bit whenever Kevin can talk about it, and they work through what they can every session and Henry says over and over again that it’s not his fault until Kevin starts to believe it. In no way does he feel absolved of his trauma, in fact Henry diagnoses him with post traumatic stress disorder and generalized anxiety disorder, and Kevin takes comfort in knowing, at the very least, that there are labels to put towards what he’s going through — and labels mean a great deal to Kevin. 

Now, he’s left to start college a semester later than all of his peers, at a school without a Price family reputation. But, at least he has Arnold by his side… and the unexpected plus of Nabulungi Hatimbi, trying to obtain her GED on a fiancée VISA. 

Some part of Kevin is concerned with how quickly things had transpired between Arnold and Nabulungi overseas, but Henry sets him back on track, asking him to worry about and take care of his own problems. “You have to fix yourself first, Kevin.” Henry always says whenever Kevin tries to deflect, or direct his focus elsewhere. 

Kevin’s sad when he realizes he has to leave Henry behind, worried that he’s not ready to start the next part of his journey, even though Henry’s set him up with all the tools he needs to succeed; and Henry spends a lot of time trying to assuage Kevin’s fears about being left behind both in college and in recovery, as Kevin’s anxious to start the next chapter of his life. 

Then, Henry prescribes Kevin a service dog for his PTSD and anxiety attacks, and in doing so, Kevin feels a little better about moving away from home, and better equipped to cope with his trauma… even if the labrador cost nearly half of his tuition and Kevin often finds himself picking little black hairs off of his clothes. He’s quick to realize, even despite feeling a little exposed with a dog following him everywhere he goes, that Hercules’ price tag had been high for good reason, and Henry points out that if Kevin didn’t have to get out of bed to feed and walk Hercules, he would probably just stay in bed to wallow in every way life has screwed him so far. 

Kevin doesn’t have a habit of admitting when he’s wrong, but Henry may be right, about pretty much everything… 


	2. Chapter 2

Aside from the anxiety that comes with stepping into uncharted territory, and the overarching fear that he’ll fail to fit in, Kevin feels at a disadvantage… His best friends, Arnold and Nabulungi, had moved into an apartment together over the holiday break — somewhere between Arnold’s proposal and the start of the Spring semester — and they’d had ample time to familiarize themselves with the new surroundings of their college town. 

Arnold had made sure to scope out the best coffee spots on and off campus just for Kevin, and Nabulungi had come to know a lot of the local stores like the back of her hand, just so she could help Kevin settle — and maybe Kevin was jealous of the time they had to get truly acquainted, but more pressingly, he felt a little guilty that he hadn’t helped them move in, too busy unpacking his own problems with Henry as things got bad around the Holidays thanks to the added stress of his aunts and uncles wondering “ _ What exactly happened on your mission? _ ” Only to turn their noses up at him when they found out. 

Even despite his spiraling thoughts and guilty conscience, Arnold and Nabulungi are there to help Kevin move into his own dorm room. All the other members of the Price family, save Jack, otherwise occupied.

“Are you just going to sit there?” Jack grunts, doing most of the heavy lifting, as Kevin sits back on his freshly made bed, his service dog, Hercules, faithfully draped over his lap and Kevin grunts softly. 

“I’m thinking.” He hums as Jack unloads Kevin’s mini-fridge in the corner of the room and begrudgingly, he gets up to offer his brother some help before Arnold and Nabulungi get back with another round of Kevin’s things from his mother’s Dodge Caravan. 

Truthfully, Kevin is troubled by what Jack must think of him. If everything had just gone according to plan, he’d be moving into one of the dorms at BYU after a successful mission, or maybe he’d be making the commute to class with his brother, but here they were instead… trying to navigate unfamiliar hallways at a college without a Price family reputation and at one point, Jack had held the map upside down, trying to navigate back to the elevators, leaving Kevin with the sinking realization that none of this would have happened under different circumstances. 

Hercules had nuzzled Kevin’s palm, grounding him to the reality of the situation, and he’d texted Henry from the safety of the elevator… but the thought continued to gnaw at the back of Kevin’s mind regardless, even despite Jack remaining seemingly unphased. 

Henry merely texted back, “ _ Are you venting or do you want advice? _ ” To which Kevin had been forced to think about his wants and intentions, because of course Henry had him reevaluating, before deciding he was only venting. 

Henry had sent back an inspirational quote he’d screenshotted from Pinterest in response. Kevin half scoffed, half laughed, love reacted the photo, and put his phone away. 

He genuinely appreciates the way Henry calls him on his bullshit, even if he can’t quite articulate it. 

If anything, Jack is having a blast, having never moved into a proper dorm of his own… neither he nor Kevin had done any of this since their oldest brother, Ethan, had started college, and Kevin remembers how his father had spent the entire day trying to give his sons advice as they navigated his old stomping grounds. He’d pointed out things that had changed, or places that had carried specific memories to him and his time at the school, and Kevin didn’t get any of that — there was no reputation to precede, nobody knew ‘ _ Brady Price’s kids’ _ where he’d ended up, and despite knowing it was a weekday, he wondered if any of this was part of the reason only Jack had bothered to help. 

Arnold and Nabulungi come crashing through the door just in time to tear Kevin from his thoughts. 

“Here’s the last of your things!” Arnold grins, tossing Jack the car keys, and in a gross miscalculation, they skid across the hardwood floor a couple feet away. Unphased, Arnold gets to unpacking what's left. 

“Where’s the best place around here to grab dinner?” Jack asks, scooping the car keys off the ground as he looks over the progress they’d made, thanks to two solid hours of work. He moves to clap Kevin on the back, and Kevin tries to be subtle as he dodges his brother’s hand, still toeing a line between outright saying he doesn’t like physical contact and trying to be somewhat pleasant and compliant so as not to draw too much attention to the root of the problem. “Maybe we can see if whoever your suitemate is wants to join us?”

“Absolutely not.” Kevin says, forcing a nervous laugh as he scratches behind Hercules’ ears, “I don’t think I’m ready for that. It’s been a long day.”

“You  _ will _ have to meet him eventually.” Nabulungi says pointedly, and Kevin shrinks at the look she gives him, reminding him so much of Kimbay’s firm guidance back in Uganda. Jack’s initial question goes unanswered.

“I don’t have to.” Kevin reasons, “I’ll keep the door locked and I won’t go to the bathroom when the lights are on.” Needless to say, no one is amused, and Kevin knows he sounds ridiculous, but it’s the anxiety talking. 

“He could be your new best friend.” Jack tries to reason, to which Kevin gestures wildly at Arnold, blinking at his brother as if to convey the sheer stupidity of his insinuation.

“And besides,” Kevin continues, “before Arnold, I had you, and now I have Nabulungi  _ and _ Hercules. So, I don’t need any more best friends.” If any of the others give him a pitiful look for counting his brother amongst his best friends, Kevin doesn’t notice. What could they possibly know anyways? Both Arnold and Nabulungi are only children. 

Hercules, on the other hand (er, paw?), protests with a huff, and Kevin always thought having a pet of his own would be a little like being a Disney princess, but his dog always sides with the people who are right… and Kevin hates admitting when he’s wrong. 

Almost if on cue, the bathroom light turns on under the door and frantically, Kevin waves his arms through the air in a desperate attempt to get everyone to freeze in place, as if they’re about to be caught. And it's almost more awkward, everyone collectively listening to an unidentified stranger pee and then wash his hands, but Kevin’s not taking criticism at this time, he’s just glad no one’s forced him into anything he’s not ready to do.

Arnold’s the first to break the silence once they’re in the clear. The bathroom lights are switched off, and the other bathroom door closes with a click. “There’s a TGI Friday’s up the road.” 

“Oh good,” Jack says, with trace amounts of sarcasm, “Kevin likes their chicken tenders.” 

Somehow, Kevin knew his picky eating and bland palette would be brought up one way or another, but they find themselves sliding into a booth at TGI Friday’s anyway, and Kevin tries not to think about all the locals he doesn’t know who have taken to sneaking not-so-subtle glances at his dog.

* * *

THREE WEEKS into the Spring semester, Henry checks in with Kevin over Skype. 

Kevin is happy to report that he’s successfully joined the Student Government Association. He’s attended  _ at least _ one school function every week, started going to the campus gym every morning, and made  _ at least _ one new friend. 

“I’m proud of you.” Henry says earnestly, and Kevin likes that Henry takes time out of his busy schedule to sit and really listen to him, despite the fact that they can’t meet face to face, “Tell me about your new friends.” 

“So, funny story,” Kevin replies, laughing softly as he scratches Hercules behind the ears, his laptop resting on his bed, “I actually met my suitemate, Zach Davis, on the way to one of my lectures for Political Science. He came into the bathroom to wash some of his dishes when I finishing up washing my hands and he asked if I wanted to grab dinner after the RA meeting that night and I wasn’t going to do it, I was kind of scared and I felt a little cornered and put on the spot, but then I thought you might kill me if I didn’t.” 

“Kevin,” Henry shakes his head with a small laugh as he reaches for his coffee, always apt to point out Kevin;s thought distortions, “that’s an over exaggeration. I would never kill you, but I’m glad you went, what did you eat?”

“...Chicken tenders.” He answers sheepishly, knowing that Henry doesn’t really care, but still feeling on the defensive. 

“Were they good?” Henry asks and Kevin shrugs in response, “Is that the only time you two have hung out?”

“No,” Kevin answers as Henry sips his coffee, “he and I went out and got groceries the other day, and he helped me figure out how the laundry room works.”

Kevin doesn’t want to admit it, just because he’d been so apprehensive about meeting Davis in the first place, but Davis is genuinely one of the nicest people he’s ever met. Davis is the kind of person to put a cup over a spider and let it go outside rather than kill it; he offers to put a couple quarters towards other people’s laundry and he’ll hand over dryer sheets and detergent without batting an eyelash — he bought Kevin coffee once and then offered to pay for the person in line behind them and Kevin’s not sure he could ever be that selfless. 

“Oh, and he’s a photography major, like Jack.” Kevin adds. 

“I’m really proud of you, Kevin.” Henry reiterates, “And happy for you, it sounds like you’re enjoying college, and you deserve to do that — I hope you realize that too.” 

“I’m trying.” Kevin answers with a small smile. 

“You’re succeeding.” Henry reframes, “And I want you to keep going.” 

“I will.” Kevin nods, and Hercules lifts his head off of his lap, his ears perking up as Davis’ door opens, a chair scraping against the ground as he presumably drops his backpack after class. Hercules lets out a low bark in greeting as they watch the bathroom light flick on from under the door. 

“Hey Kevin!” Davis greets, despite the door being closed and Henry smiles. 

“I’ll let you go, and I’ll schedule something for us next week.” Henry promises with a wave, and the call disconnects. 

In the other room, the toilet flushes as Davis goes about his business and Kevin puts his laptop away before opening the door that connects his room to the bathroom. “How were classes?” He asks politely, leaning against the doorframe as Hercules lumbers over from the bed to greet Davis. “You can pet him,” Kevin offers, knowing Hercules wants to be doted on by someone who isn’t himself, “he’s off-duty.” 

“They went well!” Davis grins, drying his hands on his towel before he drops to his knees to greet the labrador retriever. Between bouts of incoherent puppy talk Hercules seems to enjoy, Davis looks up at Kevin to engage in actual conversation, “I have an assignment to take some pictures downtown later this week, if you and Hercules want to take a walk.”

Kevin’s almost jealous, in a weird way, about how easy things, like basic human interaction, seem to come to Davis. Kevin would hem and haw over an invitation for hours before asking anyone to go do something, but Davis doesn’t seem to give anything more thought than: this is a task I have to accomplish, and people are welcome to tag along should they have the time. “We’d love to.” Kevin finds himself answering, on behalf of his dog, trying not to think too much about how much he wishes he were more spontaneous like Davis. 

“You’re still free for dinner, right?” Davis asks, and Kevin’s suddenly hyper-aware of how much time they’re spending together, a nagging voice in the back of his head asking if he’s capitalizing all of Davis’ time and if he maybe finds him annoying… 

Hercules stands, nuzzling his snout into Kevin’s hand and Kevin blinks, grounded to reality, “Yeah, totally.” 

“I’m just gonna wash up first, if that’s okay?” Davis smiles, gesturing to their shared shower and Kevin nods, Hercules trailing behind him as he lets the door click closed. He finds himself stalling in the middle of the room, Hercules trying to nudge him out of his thoughts until he’s reaching for his phone to call Arnold, feeling like he’s already spent enough of Henry’s time today.

“Kevin, what’s up!” Arnold’s voice answers well before the first ring has even finished, “You can still help me record my podcast tomorrow, right? My English professor really likes the non-fiction narrative we’re telling.”

Kevin’s brain is working a mile a minute and where he intends to answer Arnold’s question, he ends up asking one of his own, “I don’t— I’m not burdensome, am I? Like, am I— do I follow people around like a…” He finds himself looking down at Hercules as he swallows, “do I follow people around like a lost dog?” 

“Whoa, buddy,” Arnold backtracks, “where is this coming from? You’re not a burden.” 

“You know how I wasn’t going to talk to my suitemate?” Kevin asks, and he can practically hear Arnold nodding on the other end of the line, “And you know how we accidentally ran into each other in the bathroom that one time, and then we went to that RA meeting together, and he helped me do my laundry, and we had dinner, and he bought me that coffee when we went grocery shopping and now we’re watching that Netflix series together and he wants to have dinner again tonight, and then he invited me to go on a walk with him so he could take pictures—” He stops to take a deep breath, “I just feel like a lot. I also feel like a bad friend because I only see Naba at work, and I only see you when we do that podcast for your class.” 

“You’re not a bad friend.” Arnold promises, “Let’s schedule dinner sometime this week. And you know, with Davis, try to remember what Jack said on your first day… It sounds to me like Davis is just one of your new best friends.” 

“I’ve only known him two and a half weeks.” Kevin says, scratching at his eyebrow with his thumb as Hercules lays down at his feet.

“Kev, buddy…” Arnold laughs, and Kevin knows he’s not laughing at his expense, “we hadn’t even left for Uganda yet when I said we would be best friends — and you’re allowed to have more than one, you know, so don’t feel like you’re replacing me. Besides, you have to remember you’re both rooming alone. Maybe he’s lonely… he doesn’t have a dog to keep him company like you do.” 

“I guess you’re right.” Kevin breathes, “And I’ll see you tomorrow morning, at 8, like always.” 

“Can’t wait.” Arnold grins ever the voice of reason in Kevin’s life, “I’ll see you tomorrow Kev. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

* * *

A little less than an hour later, Kevin finds himself gunning for the chicken tenders as soon as he and Davis’ school IDs are scanned into the dining hall, and Davis trails behind with a quiet laugh, grabbing the tray Kevin had forgotten to take with him in his hurry. 

Truthfully, the dining hall makes Kevin a little anxious. At its busiest, he’s worried about being separated from Hercules and at its quietest he has to deal with the onlookers. Having a service dog is a little bit like having a walking billboard, everyone knows you have an issue, they just can’t make out what it is… and not everyone is versed in service dog etiquette. When Hercules is wearing his vest, he’s working, and while it should be common sense, some kids just can’t help but want to pet him or call out for his attention. 

He’s grateful that Davis doesn’t treat him any differently because of his dog.

They find a seat near the windows, away from other people, and Hercules lays down at Kevin’s feet as Davis slides into the chair across from him with a couple slices of pizza and some french fries. “Who makes the best chicken tenders you’ve ever had?” He asks conversationally as he works to unwrap his straw. 

Kevin thinks for a moment, seriously debating the answer. “I’ve had some good chicken at Chick-fil-A,” He confesses, “but they’re homophobic.” 

“Are you LGBTQ+?” Davis asks delicately and Kevin swallows with a shrug.

“I talked about it, once, with my therapist.” He confesses, and he doesn’t know why it’s so easy to tell Davis things he hasn’t ever really told Arnold, “I came out, I guess, as bisexual, maybe. There was a guy at Mission Training Center, Elder Grant, who I liked, a little more than I probably should have, because I was raised Mormon, you know, and, uh, there was my District Leader Elder Parker who I thought was handsome, but, uh…” 

“Did he look like Spiderman?” Davis jokes gently in Kevin’s brief pause, trying to keep Kevin from feeling overwhelmed or pushed to share more than he wants. 

“I mean, maybe a little, I feel like most mormons… or maybe, rather, it’s most Spidermen, all look the same.” Kevin laughs a little as they eat, “I’ve never had a girlfriend… or a boyfriend… or told anyone but my therapist and my friend Nabulungi that I find men attractive, and now you too, I guess. I just— I don’t know. I used to be different. I thought I was better that way, but I don’t know. Now, everything’s changed.” 

Davis nods in understanding, “I used to be different too, but I think college really lets you figure out who you are, without the weight of other people's expectations, you know?” There’s a lapse in conversation as they pick at their food, Kevin digesting this new outlook, before Davis speaks up again, “And I’m gay too, if that makes you feel better, or safer, or if you just ever need someone to talk to. I’m here, is all I’m saying.” 

“Thank you.” Kevin says, and he means it. 

“Do you want a refill?” Davis offers, shaking his empty cup as he pushes himself away from the table. 

“Please, if you wouldn’t mind.” Kevin smiles and when nobody’s looking, he may or may not drop a bit of chicken on the ground where Hercules glances despondently at it, before looking to Kevin for approval. “It’s for you, dummy.” Kevin whispers, like he’s talking to a friend, and then he wonders if he shouldn’t be peer pressuring his dog into breaking his training. “Don’t tell anyone.” He adds as a precaution, like Hercules would tell a soul, as Davis returns from the soda fountain. 

“Oh, Kevin, I wouldn’t tell anyone. It’s not my place to say anything.” Davis says reassuringly, nudging his glass across the table.

Kevin doesn’t have the heart to tell him he’d been talking to his dog. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spare comment? also! connor next chapter!
> 
> say hi on tumblr: @afterafternoons


	3. Chapter 3

Kevin prides himself on keeping an organized schedule. 

Even on a good day, his best friend, Arnold Cunningham, does not have himself together in any regard.

“You’re late.” Kevin chides good-naturedly, leaning against the entranceway railing to the campus recording studio at STAR Labs while Hercules lounges at his feet. (Because of the building’s moniker, Arnold’s prone to referencing the Flash comics when he can slip it into conversation.) 

Despite the fact that it’s early morning, Kevin’s already made use of the campus gym and stood in line at the Starbucks across the street for his daily coffee. Some days he waits hours for Arnold, other days minutes, but no matter what he’s always the first to arrive, and it’s not even his school assignment they’re working on. 

“Am not.” Arnold defends himself, trying to squint to read the analog clock on the street corner, “By how much?”

“12 seconds today.” Kevin reads off of the timer on his fitness tracker. 

Originally, he’d begun relaying this information to Arnold out of frustration, but they’re in too deep and joking about it now to stop. He’s learned to make good use of the time Arnold seems to waste; whether that be reading the morning paper he drops a quarter into the machine at the street corner for, or by going over the day’s schedule to prepare himself for the rest of his day. 

Arnold lets the news sink in as Kevin unlocks the building. “Is that my new record?”

“No,” Kevin relays as they take to the stairs inside, he tucks today’s paper under his arm, Hercules in tow, “you didn’t show up at all that one time, and I had to call Naba to find you.” 

“I meant, like, is this my record for being on time.” Arnold clarifies.

“No.” Kevin repeats solemnly over his shoulder, “You were early once.”

“Oh.” Arnold says, hoisting himself up the stairs by the railing as he tries to recall. Kevin, on the other hand, doesn’t use the railing. He says it’s a breeding ground for germs and bacteria. 

Because he and Kevin have special permission to use the building so early, the elevator’s don’t start working until they’re long gone and the building is opened up to the rest of the campus for the day. Keeping in mind that Kevin’s already done his daily workout, Arnold shelves a complaint about his love/hate relationship with the building’s steep and narrow staircases. 

In front of him, Kevin turns the lights on as they go, already downing his coffee as they set up. He lets his newspaper slap against the desk as he starts turning on the equipment with methodical practice. “Have you gotten any definite RSVP’s for your event?” Arnold asks, always hopeful that the answer will have changed. For the past two weeks, Kevin hasn’t had much luck with his Student Government events and for the past two weeks, Arnold’s been listening to Kevin complain about the low turnout. 

Kevin shakes his head, running a hand down his face as he sets his coffee cup onto his workspace with a hollow thud and getting straight to reorganizing the paperwork he’d left after their last recording session. Hercules settles on the floor by his feet. “No, I mean, people don’t  _ really _ have to RSVP, but I think I’ll try another flyer at The Grind.” 

“Naba said they defaced your last one because you’re a Gold Member at Starbucks.” Arnold reminds him. 

“By  _ ‘they’ _ you mean Patrick Neeley specifically.” Kevin purses his lips, with a glance across the table at his best friend, they’re three weeks into the spring semester and already he’s managed to make enemies, “He’s just mad because I told him he can’t make coffee for shit. Should we start?”

Arnold nods, putting his headset on as he settles into his chair. “You’re listening to ‘ _ Former Mormons. _ ’ A podcast by Arnold Cunningham and Kevin Price.” Kevin prefaces, leaning into the microphone and multitasking as he adjusts his own headset and switches on the red recording light in the event that anyone else with early access wanders past the recording room they’ve been leasing. 

“So,” Arnold launches right into the content, grinning at his best friend from across the desk they share, “Kevin tried to put our podcast on iTunes so we would be able to reach a wider audience and it’s safe to say, I think we are the only explicit podcast in the religion section.” He watches as Kevin rolls his eyes, but Kevin will hand it to him, Arnold’s the best at filling the dead air and that’ll only make his job that much easier in post production. “I think,” Arnold ventures on, “we wouldn’t be having this problem if Kevin had taken my suggestion back when I’d been assigned this project and titled the podcast ‘Excommunication Station.’”

“It’s too long a title.” Kevin finally adds to the conversation, “You were worried Joseph Smith would smite us for using the word ‘Mormon’ in the show title.”

“Lots of things in this world get copyrighted.” Arnold defends his somewhat seemingly irrational train of thought.

“And yet somehow,” Kevin replies, leaning back in his chair, “I don’t think a religion can be. Granted, I know the Church wants to rebrand and call us all ‘ _ members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints’ _ instead of Mormons, but how’s that for a mouthful  _ and  _ we’re excommunicated anyway.” 

Arnold glances down at the array of multi-colored sticky notes that have built up across the desk, all marked by Kevin’s neat and well practiced handwriting. They’re supposed to serve as a roadmap of things to talk about, things Kevin thinks will intrigue listeners; and Arnold tries to follow them to the best of his abilities, but more often than not he meanders. Not that Kevin minds, it’s Arnold’s project anyways, he’s merely suggesting topics per Arnold’s request. “So,” he drawls out, filling the dead space, “how’s your Student Government career going?” 

“Not great. I think I’m going to try advertising Friday’s event with another flyer at The Grind.” Kevin says, repeating his earlier sentiment as they rehash the same conversation they’d already had, just this time for their listeners. 

“Remind me what kind of event it is?” Arnold needles, like Kevin isn’t repeating everything he’d already said.

“A mixer, for freshmen, this Friday at the Student Center. I figure it can be hard to get back into the swing of things after winter break and some of us are new for the spring semester. It’ll help everyone meet people outside of their major.” Kevin expands as Arnold takes notes he’ll probably lose later, “And there will be free food.” 

“I can say, from experience, that Kevin is an excellent host, and who am I to turn down free food?” Arnold assures listeners, “If you’re interested in attending, but want more information you can DM him on...?” He pauses, looking to Kevin for the best way to get in touch with him. 

“Facebook Messenger.” Kevin answers, to which Arnold makes a face that he’s inclined to ignore. He doesn’t have time for Twitter or Snapchat and he has an Instagram, but he doesn’t quite understand how to use it. Facebook has everything he needs… if he even needs social media at all. “Just look up Kevin Price from East High School.”

“That’s the school from High School Musical.” Arnold says lowly into the mic, like it’s a secret. 

“Yeah,” He sighs as if he has any right to be ashamed, “the one and only.”

“He’s standing in front of Cinderella’s castle in his profile picture, so you can’t miss him.” Arnold adds on and Kevin just hopes that maybe this time, with just under a hundred listeners (a decent number for their mid-sized campus), that something will come of his hard work. Not to mention that, like Arnold had noted, he had managed to slip their podcast onto iTunes. 

“Anyway,” Kevin steers them back on track, “I know we’re a relatively new podcast with a decent following and we’ve spent the past week talking about our lives with the Church and the details of our mission and subsequent excommunication, but Arnold and I wanted to address some of the questions we’ve received.” 

“Kevin wrote them all down and tossed them into a cute little bowl he bought at Target!” Arnold chirps, fishing through the neatly folded Post-It notes. Dramatically, he clears his throat, “How do your Church friends react to what happened in Uganda?” 

Kevin weighs the question. He’d written them all down, but hadn’t put much thought into them — figuring the less he prepped, the more honest he’d be when it came time to answer. “It depends. My dad’s side of the family, the more devout side, has, for the most part, has disowned me since learning why we left Uganda early, but I find acceptance to be very generational, because the younger you are the easier it is to accept change, right? I mean, we see that in politics all the time, and I really find that I’ve been met with nothing but open arms and love from my youngest siblings and friends.” 

“It’s also easier for those who know you best to accept your failures.” Arnold chimes in, “I’ve always had a hard time with religion and it’s always been apparent. I don’t think anyone in my family or ward was particularly surprised.”

“That’s true.” Kevin nods. Clarifying, “About people who know you. People from my church, who heard what happened through word of mouth or directly from my parents are disappointed in me and their exiling is justified. However, kids I grew up with back in Salt Lake — kids my age, or my older brother’s age… they’re more resilient. I’m still Kevin Price, I’m still the kid they grew up with and went to class with and that makes it harder for them to just write me off.” 

And in a weird way, Kevin thinks, it’s easier for him to divulge this deeply personal stuff to an audience he can’t see. The same way it’d been easy to open up to Davis the night before. 

They go back and forth, unfolding Post-It’s and prompting one another from Kevin’s neatly printed questions. The differences between he and Arnold are glaringly obvious but Kevin’s proud to call him his best friend despite all the teasing and hell they’ve put one another through. 

“Don’t forget to put your flyers up.” Arnold says on their way out of the building and folder in hand, Kevin waves a copy of his last print out at him in ackwnoledgement. 

“I found this in my drawer,” Kevin says, stopping briefly to slip the paper back into the folder as he checks his watch and readjusts Hercules’ leash, “so I’m going to post it on my way to class and then stop by the library afterwards and print off a couple more.”

“I hope your turnout is bigger this time!” Arnold replies, pulling him into a quick hug, and Arnold’s one of the few people who have special privileges when it comes to touching Kevin. He gives good hugs, and he’s been giving them ever since Kevin first asked for one, back in Uganda, when he’d needed it most — and unlike some people, Arnold’s careful with him… and he knows the whole story. 

“I hope so too, let me know if you need help editing the podcast.” Kevin smiles, willingly hugging Arnold back, “And let me know when you can do dinner this week, yeah?” 

“Nabulungi will let you know when we’re free when she sees you at work tomorrow.” Arnold waves as they part ways, Kevin headed towards The Grind on campus and Arnold, who knows where. Arnold calls after him in an afterthought, “I’ll see you tomorrow and we’ll be there Friday, okay?”

Kevin wishes he had someone to organize his schedule, like Arnold has Nabulungi.

Campus is a short walk past schotschkey shops and over the river bridge; the patch of lawn in front of Kevin’s dorm is well manicured and bright green, and students mill about on their way to class, or coffee or the gym. 

“Welcome to The— Kevin Price.” Patrick Neeley scowls from behind the counter as the doorbell chimes above his head and Kevin rolls his eyes, a clear mission in mind to complete and no time for chit chat with someone he can hardly tolerate. He’d been hoping that maybe he’d get lucky and happen in on a day Neeley wasn’t working. 

“Welcome to The Grind.” Another kid finishes for Neeley. 

“I’m just pinning a poster to your bulletin board.” Kevin surrenders, holding his hands up. “I’m not here to insult your mop water coffee.” 

Neeley scoffs, “You just did. The board is for paying customers only, Price. Not Gold-Star Starbucks loyalists.”

“No one makes a skinny caramel macchiato like Starbucks.” Kevin replies flippantly, turning his back to Neeley and pinning his poster to the board just to spite him. 

“Let me try.” Neeley’s coworker proposes, staring down a challenge he’s determined to win. “On me and I’ll let you keep the poster up in exchange.” 

Tongue in cheek, Kevin concedes. He and Neeley find themselves standing on opposite sides of the counter in a silent scowl-off. “Fine, but for the record I already had my coffee this morning.”

He finds himself anxiously checking his watch as he drums his fingers against the counter. He leaves plenty of time in his tightly regimented day for things to deviate from his schedule, but he still sweats the small things even if he’ll still make it to class early. Hercules nudges him lightly, as if to convince him to calm down and to do so, Kevin takes to gently petting behind the dog’s ears as they wait.

“Just try it.” The kid says, slapping a lid onto the paper cup and sliding a sleeve from the bottom up with practiced precision before he nudges it across the counter. Kevin finally bothers to read his name tag, Connor. 

He makes a show of rolling his eyes at Neeley before he takes an impatient sip. “Not bad.” He concedes, stuffing a couple of wadded up singles from his coat pocket into the tip jar. It’s not Connor’s fault he happens to hate Neeley and his place of work, but his mother didn’t raise him to be anything but kind to someone who hadn’t publicly dragged him before. 

“So you’ll be back?” Connor asks, smugly. Perhaps rightfully proud of his work, but Kevin wouldn’t give Neeley the satisfaction of knowing that he likes anything off the menu of The Grind. 

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Kevin replies with a thin smile, eyes fixed in a glare at Neeley before he turns to leave. The bell chimes above his head upon exiting and before the door closes, he can hear Neeley slap his hands against the counter and direct Connor to take the poster down. He doesn’t care to stick around and find out if he does, he’s already set on printing more after class.

* * *

Kevin plans for accidents, but that doesn’t mean he anticipates them. His days run smoother if he can skate by without incident. Typically, Arnold ruins his streak first thing in the morning when he has to wait outside STAR Labs for longer than he’d like, but ever having to interact with Neeley really upends his whole day. 

“So you really just have something against coffee from The Grind?” Connor corners him in the library that afternoon as Kevin stands over the printer he’s just jammed after hemming and hawing about how many posters he should print to display around campus.

Kevin glances over his shoulder, clearly preoccupied, “He made you toss the flyer, didn’t he?” 

“Actually.” Connor replies, rifling through his pocket to produce the neatly folded paper, “I was going to RSVP later today, but then I saw you over here, wrestling the printer and then I noticed you were still carrying around your coffee cup three hours later and…” He pauses, picking up the coffee cup Kevin had hardly touched to weigh it, “it’s still full.” 

Kevin raises an eyebrow, halting the little progress he’d made with the printer. “And? So?” 

“You really like Starbucks more?” Connor asks, finding Kevin’s disdain for The Grind to be hilarious, “I’m not a coffee drinker and even I know that they’re overrated —  _ and _ they overcharge, in my opinion.” 

Kevin scoffs, rolling his eyes as he turns back to the printer. “Sure, but Neeley doesn’t work there.”

Connor huffs somewhat of a laugh, getting straight to the point. “First, you never introduced me to your dog.” He gestures to Hercules at Kevin’s feet who doesn’t even seem to care about his presence, “And second, I  _ do  _ want to RSVP to your mixer.”

“This is Hercules.” Kevin falters, briefly, feeling a bit interrupted and he  _ really _ doesn’t like when people draw attention to the elephant (er, dog?) in the room, but he knows Connor isn’t trying to be malicious, “He’s working right now, but, uh, you don’t have to RSVP, there’s no list...” 

“Pity.” Connor tsks in jest. 

“If one turns up, I will put you on the list, Connor…” Kevin concedes, falling short of a last name. 

“McKinley.” Connor supplies, “I’m a Musical Theatre Major.” 

Kevin nods, he does get that vibe from Connor. He’s also not quite sure he likes Connor just yet. “Political Science.” He offers, fiddling with the printer. He’s almost certain that he’ll end up paying a fine or for a new printer altogether by the little progress he’s able to make with the mess he’s made. “I don’t judge you for working at The Grind.” Kevin says as an afterthought, “I just prefer Starbucks. I’m not, like, a serious coffee drinker. Well, I am, I’ve had a lot of coffee ever since I quit Mormonism, but it’s like, I’m fine with box wine, I don’t need to see a winery. I don’t need a 500 year old glass.” 

Connor blinks. 

“Okay, maybe that was a bad comparison.” Kevin waves a hand as if to erase the thought, “What I’m saying is Starbucks is sweet and not at all like real coffee. The Grind is like elbow grease and a little bit of mop water, maybe, and it’s real coffee and I just don’t like the taste of real coffee.”

“I don’t like the taste of coffee at all.” Connor shrugs, gently reaching to swipe Kevin’s coffee cup into the trash. He’s just as quick to refute the look of offense that crosses Kevin’s face, “Oh please, it was free and it’s three hours old and you don’t like real coffee anyway.” He shrugs again, hands waving through the air as he talks, “I get it and I get why you like Neeley even less than the coffee itself. He’s... a lot and not in a particularly good way. Now move, so I can fix the printer.” 

Kevin obliges, gesturing for Hercules to follow and he’ll be the first to admit that maybe he’d underestimated Connor. He’s just glad he doesn’t have to shell out more money to pay for repairs, and he’s definitely not going to tell Connor the only  _ real _ reason he didn’t drink the rest of the macchiato he’d made him is because he didn’t feel like shitting himself later. Sometimes, one coffee is enough. “Thanks.” He says graciously, when Connor hands him the stack of flyers. “I’ll see you Friday.” 

“Yeah,” Connor’s lips quirk in a smile as he takes a couple flyers for himself, “I’ll see you Friday, and I’ll even spread the word.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos & comments appreciated. let me know what you think!
> 
> tumblr: afterafternoons


	4. Chapter 4

Kevin hates his job, hates his coworkers, and the only saving grace in all of this is Nabulungi. If he’s being 100% honest, he pities her in a way — marrying Arnold on a VISA in hopes of seeing Salt Lake City. (Which, is not the bad part, might he add.) The worst part, in all of this, is she’s found herself stuck in some manager position in a big city at some random clothing store while she pursues her GED. Now, she claims she loves it and Kevin believes that maybe she truly does, but he can’t share her optimism or see the same silver lining. 

“How are things going with the boy from the gym?” Naba grins, leaning against the cash wrap as she tries to catch up on all the secrets that stay between the two of them. If it were any other manager on duty they’d reprimand Kevin for ‘not doing his job,’ but with Naba, Kevin can get away with nearly anything. Most shifts they gossip as they clean the store. And lately, Naba’s wanted to hear all about the cute boy Kevin had started talking to at the gym — the only boy he’s openly flirted with. 

Kevin shakes his head with a snort, playing with the lanyard his keys and nametag are clipped to as they wait for someone to come through.

“Have you talked to him?” She needles, on his heels as Kevin and Hercules move to check the fitting rooms for discarded clothes. 

“Once or twice.” Kevin lies with a shrug, unlocking one of the doors to peek inside after a courtesy knock. (He’s accidentally walked in on people a time or two too many.)

Naba rolls her eyes, pausing to fix one of the clothing racks as Kevin empties out the fitting rooms. Hercules takes a seat in the middle of the hallway, obediently waiting for Kevin to stop flitting through the rooms and accidentally shutting doors on him — giving Naba ample time to attempt to have the dog read her mind, as Kevin so often does. Maybe it’s all the Disney movies that have Kevin convinced that Hercules could be his furry sidekick/wingman, like Meeko or Jaq or Sebastian even. 

“Stop trying to telepathically communicate with my dog.” Kevin tells her off. Then for good measure he looks to Hercules, “And don’t you listen to anything she tries to tell you with her jedi mind tricks.” 

Maybe Arnold had taught him a thing or two, or maybe he was failing to make references that made any sense, but neither he nor Nabulungi could verify the validity of the Star Wars reference he’d just attempted. 

“You have to talk to the gym boy.” Naba laments, following Kevin as he puts away the couple items he’s managed to scrounge up in the fitting rooms. “What’s his name again? Invite him to your thing tomorrow night!”

Kevin takes to rolling his eyes, “His name is Elijah Zelder and I am  _ not _ inviting him to my ‘thing.’ Besides, you and Arnold are coming to my ‘thing.’ Haven’t you ever heard, three’s a party and four’s a crowd — screw that guy.” 

“I think that saying goes the other way around.” Naba waggles her eyebrows suggestively at his last comment. 

Kevin dismisses her with a wave of his hand. “I already invited someone else, so there’s a good chance there will be four of us anyway.” 

“Did you invite a real person or just ask someone to write down their school ID and cheat the system like you did last time?” Naba challenges, arms crossed over her chest to Kevin’s offense. He hadn’t been cheating the system, that guy had definitely happened past the event at the very least, and that had to count for something. If it were really cheating, he’d feel bad about it… right?

“His name is Connor and he works at The Grind.” Kevin says, a bit on the defensive, before remembering another outstanding invitation, “And Davis is coming too, so I guess that makes five. Already too many people who know me for my liking.” 

“My God, Kevin Price.” Naba groans, “You have men falling for you left and right!” 

Kevin changes the topic, clearly annoyed, “When are we doing dinner? Arnold said you knew his schedule.” 

“Arnold wants to do Olive Garden on Saturday, once your event is over and your head is clear.” Naba sighs, unenthused and disappointed that Kevin had changed the topic. She drums her fingers against the counter in thought, “You could bring Elijah, or Connor, or Davis… or all three.”

“Absolutely not.” Kevin groans, holding a shirt up against himself in the middle of the store, “By the way… I know you’re just teasing, but did you know Davis is gay? He told me the other night over dinner.” 

“You’re not allowed to buy another Disney sweater, Kevin Price… and how am I supposed to know these things?” She asks pointedly, “You’ve only let me meet him once. ” 

“I’m not gatekeeping him!” Kevin says defensively as he returns the shirt to the rack, “Our schedules are just…” He gestures vaguely, “bleh.” 

Nabulungi raises an eyebrow like she doesn’t believe him when the bell jingles above the door, just in time to rescue him from the next question out of her mouth:  _ Do you like Davis? _

“Hi, welcome to—” He stops short, looking pointedly to Nabulungi, “we were just talking about you.”

“What an odd name for a clothing store.” Davis jokes, a shorter boy Kevin vaguely recognizes trailing behind him as they make their way to the cash wrap. Davis stops, looking at the same shirt Kevin had just touched, as he runs the material between his fingers, “Do you own this?”

“Don’t encourage him.” Nabulungi begs, and Davis holds his hands up in surrender. 

“Kevin, Nabulungi — this is my boyfriend Alex Michaels.” Davis introduces, gesturing to the boy he’d brought along. And well, that answers  _ that _ question. 

“You’re dating our RA.” Kevin says observantly, everything finally clicking into place, and he sometimes wonders if he shouldn’t state these  _ astute _ observations out loud, but this one, in particular, he feels is better than pointing out that they both have last names that are technically first names. 

“I am doing that, yes.” Davis nods, and the insinuation is not lost on Nabulungi like it is on Kevin. “We were actually wondering what time your shift was over, and if you still wanted to take those photos with us downtown?” 

Nabulungi hums, checking the clipboard and the time on the register. “I could let him go now.” She offers, “Because he stayed late the other night.” 

“Are you sure?” Michaels double checks, and Kevin is almost positive he will only be able to call these two by their last name-first names, lest he keep thinking about it… which makes sense for Davis, who prefers it as a former soccer player. He just hopes Michaels will let him, because he really doesn’t know how to ask otherwise. 

“Positive.” Nabulungi promises, shooing Kevin out from behind the cash wrap, “Go, and please Kevin, try to have fun.” 

“Yes, mom.” Kevin concedes, Hercules at his side. Really, he’s just glad so many people care about him and want him to succeed. The door chimes above their heads as they leave together, Kevin waving at Nabulungi one last time. 

“Kevin, Alex’s brother has a hearing dog.” Davis explains as they walk, “She’s a golden retriever, right?” 

“Her name is Mango.” Michaels offers with a nod, and oddly enough, even though the current conversation surrounds Hercules, Kevin doesn’t feel like Hercules is drawing all of the attention like he sometimes does when people try to talk to him about service dogs — or more particularly,  _ his _ service dog. 

In those instances, Kevin usually feels like the underlying question is:  _ so, why do you have one? _

“Cute name.” Kevin offers, still warming up to the addition of a new person in the mix. He and Michaels have only ever spoken in passing, and he’s not quite ready to bear all to a new face.

Davis leads most of the conversation, bridging the gap as Kevin warms up, and they chit chat about their majors and their families. Kevin learns that Michaels comes from a family almost as big as his, with four other siblings, and that they’re all named alphabetically, starting with himself at letter A. He also learns that Michaels is bisexual and worked at a country club up until he procured his position as an RA, and that he’s studying to become a paramedic. 

And he learns more about Davis too, like the fact that Davis had spinal fusion surgery his freshman year of high school and had to resign himself to helping coach the soccer team until senior year, and that sometimes, he can feel the weather changes in his rods — or the fact that he has two sister’s back home, both younger than he is.

All of these little details make it easy for Kevin to open up about his five siblings, even if he only divulges half truths, and while he mentions that he and Arnold only managed to make it two weeks in Uganda, he does take the opportunity to plug Arnold’s podcast if they want to learn more.

“So, wait,” Michaels backtracks, trying desperately to understand, as Davis has them stop on the sidewalk so he can take photos, “Arnold created an entire religion, founded somewhere, rather distantly, in the Mormon faith but he replaced… almost every notable religious figurehead with a science fiction character?”

“I really don’t think I could make that up if I tried.” Kevin promises, scratching Hercules behind the ears while they wait, “And he’s an English major now, so everything really fell into place for him.” 

“That’s good to hear.” Michaels offers and Kevin hums as Davis lapses back to meet them, zipping up his camera bag on the way.

“Alright boys, I think I’m finished here!” Davis beams, “Anyone in the mood for some food from the dining hall?” 

“I can always go for some chicken tenders.” Kevin shrugs, and Davis offers a good-natured laugh as the head back. 

* * *

If anything, Kevin’s used to third wheeling, so he doesn’t mind when Michaels cheesily offers to walk his boyfriend back to his dorm room after dinner, even going so far as to politely offer to drop Kevin off next door in the process. They’re sweet to not make him feel like he’s intruding, even if he sort of (definitely) is. 

“Goodnight, you guys.” Kevin waves as they drop him off, and he watches out of the corner of his eye as Michaels leans into Davis’ doorway, continuing their hushed conversation before he leaves to complete whatever RA duties need tending to, planting a kiss on Davis’ lips as he goes. Sometimes, Kevin wishes he had something like that, but right now he wants nothing more than to drop into bed, if he could just find his keycard… 

It’s lodged in an unusual spot, somewhere between a Starbucks gift card Arnold had gifted him, and the room key for the hotel he and Jack had stayed in the night before move-in, and he doesn’t remember stuffing it there, but he’d probably been in a hurry. Truthfully, the only thing on Kevin’s mind for the past week has been his Student Government event the following night, and Davis had been kind enough to extend his invitation to Michaels over dinner, who is technically a Junior, but had nonetheless agreed to make an appearance and spread the word as far as he could with less than 24 hours notice. 

Hercules stretches when Kevin finally gets to opening the door, like he’d kept him waiting far too long and Kevin shakes his head with a sort of laugh at just how expressive his dog can be. 

The second he notices something’s off, Kevin freezes, frantically trying to assure himself that he’s in the right space and that his keycard didn’t somehow work on someone else’s door. He backpedals into the hallway, turning his keycard over in his hands and smoothing his fingers over the sign outside his door, as if the Braille could assure him that he isn’t the one in the wrong here. 

“What’re you doing in my room?” He snipes, half in the doorway, half in the hall.

“Uh,” Connor stammers, in the middle of unpacking one of his few boxes, “ResLife said they sent you an email.”

“I— I need a second.” Kevin excuses himself into the hallway, tugging Hercules after him. “I never got an email.”

The door locks behind him with a click as he sinks down against the wall, Hercules clamoring into his lap as he tries to control his breathing. He’d much rather breakdown with the possibility that someone  _ might _ happen by, rather than breakdown in the comfort of what was supposed to be his  _ own _ room, which is presently being overtaken and invaded by someone he’s only just met a handful of days before. Frantically, he searches through his inbox, looking instead for his therapist’s phone number. 

“I’m freaking out.” He prefaces. Then, “Sorry, hi, this is Kevin Price. I’m freaking out. I just got back from work and dinner and there’s— I guess ResLife assigned me a roommate and I can’t— I’m not ready for that.”

“Kevin, you need to breathe.” Henry says on the other end of the line and Kevin does, shifting his focus to smoothing his fingers down Hercules’ slick, black fur. “You can handle a roommate. You’ve had a roommate all your life between your brothers and Arnold, I’m sure this isn’t anything you can’t handle.” 

“Yeah, but I don’t know him!” Kevin whines, knowing, in the reasonable part of his brain, that there’s nothing he nor his therapist can do about the situation, or at the very least, not anything they can do tonight. Henry talks him down until Kevin can bring himself to find the notifying email from ResLife and retreat back into his room, even if he can’t yet meet Connor’s eyes. 

“Sorry?” Connor pierces the silence, awkwardly. He’s standing haltingly in the middle of the room, trying his best to set up his things unobtrusively and Kevin has half a mind to appreciate that he isn’t just throwing up his personal belongings all over  _ his _ room.

Kevin inhales sharply, acutely conscious of his shaky exhale and he’s trying so hard to maintain his anxiety as Hercules nudges up against his leg. There’s a slew of mean things he wants to say — not necessarily directed to Connor or about him in particular, but he feels ambushed in what he’d thought to be his safe space. The same way he’d felt in that airport between Uganda and Salt Lake City.

“We’ll figure it out.” He says instead, almost robotically, a practiced (albeit tight lipped) smile gracing his features as he ducks his head and crosses to his side of the room.

He tries not to pay Connor any mind, attempting to remain neutral and inoffensive. It feels like he’s performing an intricate dance, moving around the obtrusion to complete his nightly routine — all the while, buried in thought and trying desperately not to fall back into his explosive habits. 

Showering proves to be his only viable form of escapism. It’s far too late (and far too dangerous, in his opinion) to go walking the city streets alone and it’s past that time of night where kids start using the study lounge sofas as beds to escape their roommate troubles. Kevin just isn’t that desperate yet, and he doesn’t know who’s been sleeping out on the sofas before him. The hygienics of the whole thing — or lack thereof — freaks him out. 

Hercules lays out on the bathroom rug, just short of following Kevin into the shower to assist in deescalating his distress — and Kevin spends a lot of his time overthinking the situation as hot water rolls over his body and fogs up the mirrors. Eventually, after the hot water has run out, he changes into his pajamas in the safety between the shower and the partition and this is when Davis  _ finally _ comes to his rescue. 

“There’s somebody in my room.” Kevin says, pulling the partition back as he gathers up his dirty clothes and Hercules looks up from the comfort of the rug.

“Kevin,” Davis blinks, taken aback, his mind racing, “have you called security?”

“What? No, like, they gave me a roommate,” Kevin better explains, “but I didn’t get any sort of notice, other than an email that says ‘you should expect a new resident to move-in between noon and 6PM.’ And I didn’t even know I’d even gotten an email until I got back to find him almost completely moved in.” 

“Well, I think ResLife just started moving people into new rooms,” Davis replies, having a semester’s more experience than Kevin, “because I think you’re supposed to try conflict resolution for the first couple weeks.”

Kevin groans, but Davis is quick to try and console him. “But maybe you can appeal this!” He says, hands hovering over Kevin’s shoulders without ever touching him, “We can talk to Alex and see what he can do, because it’s not like you guys hate each other, and I’m sure he’ll understand. We can say the other bed is for Hercules, you know? I’m sure they can make accommodations.”

Kevin frowns, scratching at his eyebrow with the back of his thumb as he looks down at his dog. “The other bed was for Hercules.” He pouts, even though Hercules always sleeps at his side, and even though Davis is in crisis management mode, he offers the smallest laugh. 

“We’ll get his bed back, alright?” Davis promises to the best of his abilities, “I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Davis,” Kevin says, and he feels small, the same way he did standing in Gotswana’s office after the assault, and in Henry’s office for the first time, “I have night terrors.”

“Okay.” Davis nods, listening. 

“They used to be worse, I used to be on medication because I couldn’t sleep at all, but then I got Hercules.” He explains, “All I’m saying is, I trust you and I want you to know that about me, but I don’t know this kid. I met him twice, and I’m not really ready to share that part of myself.”

“Do they happen every night?” Davis asks, arms crossed over his chest in thought as he rubs this thumb across his lower lip. 

“Not so much anymore.” Kevin shrugs, “Hercules is really good about catching them.”

“Would you feel better sleeping in my room?” Davis offers, “We can share the bed, or I could take yours for the night? My bed’s a King size.”

“No.” Kevin shakes his head, not wanting to take advantage of Davis’ kindness. He sighs, “I want this to be over.”

“How about this,” Davis proposes, “ _ if _ anything happens, and I’m sure you’ll know if something happens, we can talk to him about it tomorrow, but for now, let’s cross one bridge at a time and just plan for the best case scenario.” 

Kevin takes in a deep breath, looking to Hercules. “...Okay.”

“And Kevin?” Davis asks, reaching for his toothbrush, which is probably what he came into the bathroom to do anyway, “If you ever need anything… just knock. Even if it’s 2AM. I’m serious. Just knock.”

“Thanks.” Kevin smiles. 

“Yeah, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nabulungi!!!! i love her!!!! kudos and comments appreciated, as always. 
> 
> and my tumblr is @afterafternoons


	5. Chapter 5

In a past life — notably the one he’d lead before Uganda, under the mold of the person his father  _ wanted _ him to be — Kevin cared a great deal about how others perceived him. 

Everything seemed to hinge on his being the  _ perfect _ student, the  _ perfect  _ brother, the  _ perfect  _ son, and the  _ perfect  _ Mormon, with absolutely no room for error, as he was often used as an example for his siblings, and for other kids in his ward. 

Growing up, he hadn’t seen anything wrong with being  _ that _ person, because he’d never been anything else. 

Now, while Kevin still cares a great deal about others' opinions, Henry’s largely managed to help him reframe just how dependent he is on what others think, emphasizing the importance of putting himself first. 

So, Kevin finds he simply can’t bring himself to care a great deal what Connor McKinley thinks of him after he and Davis’ talk, ending his night with another tight-lipped smile and an, “I’m going to bed.” He has some newfound hope, via Davis’ optimism, that the present roommate situation will resolve itself fairly quickly. Besides, he just needs a day to warm up, is all. 

He has more pressing issues to worry about anyways, like the success of his Student Government event.

* * *

“Do you ever take days off?” Elijah Zelder jokes the next morning as he stands in line behind Kevin at the water fountain, gently knocking his water bottle against his palm as he waits for Kevin to finish. It takes Kevin a second to register who it is before he’s seen Elijah’s face, lost in the casual, non-stop worrying he’s grown accustomed to: this time about his roommate situation. “I’ve seen you here everyday since the start of the semester. It’s like you materialized out of thin air.” 

Kevin moves aside, cleaning up his face with the bottom of his shirt, happy to have the distraction. If Elijah takes an extra second or two to ogle, Kevin doesn’t notice, focused instead on pulling Hercules out of the way. “I haven’t taken a day off  _ yet _ , but I seem to recall seeing you here everyday. Do  _ you _ take days off?” 

“Touche.” Elijah’s lips quirk into a smile as he leans into the button on the water fountain. “Hey,” He says, before Kevin can take his leave, “I finally listened to your podcast. It’s ok.”

“Just ‘ok?’” Kevin raises an eyebrow. 

This feels like one of the longest conversations he and Zelder have had, but he’s fallen harder for people with a lot less to go on… 

Elijah shrugs teasingly, “I mean it’s  _ decent _ . Maybe I’ll check out your mixer” 

“Just maybe?” Kevin repeats, dumbly.

Elijah smiles again as he caps his water bottle, “Just maybe.”

* * *

“And then he said  _ maybe _ he’d check out the mixer.” Kevin relays his earlier interaction to Nabulungi, knocking his knuckles anxiously against the cash wrap as Hercules lounges at his feet, the store in one of it’s dead lulls. 

Gently, Nabulungi moves to place her hands over Kevin’s in an attempt to calm him, and for once, Kevin doesn’t protest the gesture, looking down at their hands as she speaks, “Everything is going to happen the way it’s supposed to, Kevin, but you have to take it all one step at a time.”

“Easy for you to say.” Kevin whines, “You already have a roommate, and a husband, who, by design, are the same person… All I have is a dog, a middle-school crush, and a Connor.” 

The bell above the door rings before Nabulungi can respond, and Arnold comes brandishing lunch from one of the neighboring restaurants like he’d promised after he and Kevin’s recording session, just half an hour prior. 

“I think you should tell him.” Nabulungi says vaguely as she rounds the cash wrap to welcome Arnold with a hug, but Kevin knows what she’s saying between the lines, or more accurately  _ what she isn’t saying _ . 

If they want to finish their present conversation, he has to be open and honest with Arnold too. And, it’s not that Kevin thinks that Arnold will judge him, it’s quite the opposite actually — he knows Arnold will accept him with open arms. Kevin’s biggest concern is the Mormon guilt, something only Arnold could understand, and that’s why he’s held off trying to figure himself out for so long… Somehow, telling Arnold feels one step closer to tell his family, and he doesn’t know if they could survive another one of his bombshells.

“Kevin, buddy.” Arnold waves a hand in front of his face, “You look like you’re going to be sick.” 

Kevin swallows thickly, focusing his gaze on his best friend… rather than his trademark aimless stare into the distance. “Arnold,” He says, inhaling deeply through his nose, “I’m bisexual.” 

Arnold snickers, “I know.”

“You told him?” Kevin turns accusingly on Nabulungi who holds her hands up in a white-bellied surrender. 

“Woah!” Arnold cries, desperately trying to deescalate the situation, “You wanna know how I know? It was  _ incredibly  _ obvious after we watched Back to the Future, and then you asked if I wanted to start watching Family Ties. I know you have a thing for Michael J. Fox, it’s okay!” 

Internally, Kevin may be losing his mind. “Leave APK out of this.” He says instead. 

“Who doesn’t like Alex P. Keaton.” Arnold shrugs, looking to Nabulungi for backup.

“I do not know who that is.” She says, unhelpfully, as she peers into the takeout bags. “Why don’t you take your lunch, eat your food, and tell Arnold about your boy problems?” 

“Are you in love with Davis?” Arnold asks, as if everything suddenly makes sense. “Ohmigod, are you in love with Neeley? Are you guys gonna be like…  _ enemies to lovers _ ?” 

“I am in love with neither of those people.” Kevin assures his best friend, waving his hands through the air to dispel the thought. He almost wants to gag at the insinuation that he could do anything other than completely loathe Neeley… although… No, Kevin definitely does not find him attractive in any capacity… or maybe he’s decent, in a rather annoying way. 

“You’re thinking about it.” Arnold teases. 

“I’m trying to keep my breakfast down.” Kevin refutes, punching out for his lunch.

* * *

Kevin’s not allowed to eat on the sales floor, and even despite having an in with the manager, Arnold’s not allowed in the breakroom, so Kevin takes his lunch on the bench outside, sitting with his legs folded beneath him as Hercules lays underneath the bench, Arnold at his side.

He bears all, starting with his inappropriate crush on Elder Grant at the MTC, and admitting that he had found District Leader Elder Parker to be quite attractive… to which Arnold confirms, he did look a bit like he could play the next Spider-Man… Kevin talks through the first time he and Henry had talked about his sexuality, and how he’d told Davis, only to meet Michaels the next day. 

“And then he said  _ maybe _ he’d check out the mixer.” Kevin repeats, as he ties up the conversation by looping Arnold into his current crush on Elijah Zelder, “And before you say anything, you fell in love with Nabulungi on a lot less. I have been admiring this guy from afar for, like, three weeks.” 

“He has good taste in podcasts.” Arnold praises and Kevin rolls his eyes, as his phone starts to vibrate in his pocket. Davis’ picture appearing on-screen. 

“Hello?” He answers, his brain quick to resort to the worst case scenario.  _ Something’s happened, _ he convinces himself,  _ and you’re an emergency contact _ . 

“Hey, Kevin! This is Alex Michaels.” Michaels reintroduces cheerily on the other end of the line, and if Kevin breathes a sigh of relief, he hopes it goes unnoticed. “So, Zach told me about your roommate situation, and I want to help you out, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to jump through some hoops here, just some policies set forth by the college. So, right now, our campus is actually operating at over capacity — your freshman class is one of the largest we’ve seen and as I’m sure Zach told you, we just started roommate reassignments for the Spring semester. So, in short, reassignments typically happen in cases of immediate danger, or after failed attempts at conflict resolution mediated by an RA. Right now, what I can do for you is, I can put you on the list for a reassignment… or we can sit down with Connor and have a meeting where you guys can draft a roommate agreement.”

“Sorry,” Kevin swallows, running his hands down Hercules back as he tries to comprehend his options, “you’re saying I’d have to be the one to move out?”

“Well, it’s just one option.” Michaels offers, “If you know someone with an open bed, I can see if I can move you in with them. I’m thinking this would be one of the faster available options.” 

“I don’t want to move out.” Kevin says, looking to Arnold, “I’d really like Connor gone.”

“Right, okay, so we can talk to him.” Michaels replies, the same way Kevin would submit to a disgruntled customer. 

“And if he doesn’t want to get on the waitlist?” Kevin sighs, losing hope. 

“Then you’ll have to draft a roommate agreement.” Michaels answers, “They work for a lot of people, if you’re willing to give it a try.” 

“Great.” Kevin says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Sometimes, it feels like shutting down is the only option and he  _ really _ doesn’t want to have this conversation anymore. 

Alex apologizes, not that it makes the situation better, and Kevin knows, reasonably, that he’s just following protocol. As the line goes dead Kevin bites the inside of his cheek. Hard. 

“Kevin,” Arnold says, as Hercules puts his head in Kevin’s lap, “talk to me.” 

Kevin blinks, eyes boring through Hercules as he runs his fingers through his soft coat, “ _ Fuck _ .”

* * *

“And then he said  _ maybe _ he’d check out the mixer.” Kevin repeats for the third time that day, because talking about his chance encounter is better than paying Connor any mind.

“You sound  _ enthused _ .” Henry says blankly, his face unreadable through the screen, and Kevin knows they’re both lying to each other's faces. He  _ knows _ this is Henry’s strategy to get him to talk. 

“I am happy.” Kevin shrugs, with no real emotion as he leans back against his headrest… counting the minutes until Connor shows up out of the blue. 

“Oh, I’m sure.” Henry replies monotonously, and Kevin thinks he may be beating him at his own game as Henry ices him into submission. 

“Fine.” Kevin throws up his hands, clearly more frustrated than he’d been letting on, “What do you want me to say?”

Henry’s lips quirk into the tiniest of smiles as he reaches to push his glasses back up his nose. “Nothing.” He shrugs, his reverse psychology running rampant, “If you don’t want to talk about it. I can’t make you, Kevin.”

“ _ Wherever you are, there you go. _ ” Kevin grumbles under his breath.

“So you do listen to me when I talk.” Henry says. Kevin glares at him. “You’re not going to get better if you don’t want to, and this situation can’t work itself out if you won’t let it, but if you don’t want help— I can’t make you want help, and therefore I can’t help you.  _ Wherever you are, there you go. _ ” 

Kevin swallows, picking at one of the loose strings on his comforter. “It feels like MTC all over again.”

“How’s that?” 

“I got my hopes up.” Kevin shrugs, quietly, “And I thought things would swing in my favor for once. I thought I’d go to Florida, and I thought I would be, like, a  _ really _ good mormon. And today, I guess I thought Michaels would call and tell me that he’s so sorry for the mix up, and Connor will be moving out right away. That it was all some big mistake.” 

“Kevin,” Henry says, “what came out of Uganda?”

Kevin glances up, blinking slowly at the camera. “What are you asking? I got assaulted. Uganda ruined my entire  _ fucking _ life.” 

“Kevin,” Henry says again, the same way his mom would repeat his name as if she could ground him to it, or use it to remind him who he is, “you came out of Uganda with a new best friend, you broke the family mold, you redefined yourself, got a service animal, you got to go away for college and you get to embrace your sexuality. I’m not asking you to discount the negatives, but you _ have _ to remember the positives. You are a better version of yourself today, because of your experiences.”

“I don’t feel better.” Kevin snipes, “I feel broken, and I feel like everybody knows it because I’m walking around with a giant  _ fucking _ billboard and everyone just stares at me and wonders what my problem is. I— I feel like a piece of china in my grandmother’s china cabinet. Everybody just gets to look at me. I’m just for show. I have no real purpose, even though I’m, like, a fucking plate.” 

Henry nods on the other end of the line as Kevin wipes under his eyes with the heel of hand. 

“Have you talked to Ellen?” He asks after a beat of silence.

Kevin shakes his head. He has no idea how to find his older sister. He figures she’s probably long since dropped the Price name… and she’s probably better for it too. 

“Do you think she feels like a piece of china in your grandmother’s cabinet?” Henry asks. 

“Probably.” Kevin shrugs, “...When my dad finally told my grandma what had happened in Uganda, she disowned me. Just like she did when she found out Ellen was conceived out of wedlock… but she never disowned my dad. No, because he’s her pride and joy, he’s her first son… and Ellen and I, we’re just screw ups at the hands of our circumstances. We get to sit on the shelf, toted out like examples of the people her other grandkids shouldn’t become, or I don’t know, maybe in this analogy we’re broken china that never made it to the shelf.” 

Clearly, the analogy had gotten away from Henry as he thinks through his next bit of advice, “I think you  _ are _ stronger than you know. I think you’ve overcome a lot more in twenty years than most people do in their entire lives, and I have faith that you’ll overcome this too, just like you overcame being paired with Arnold… and now look at you two.” 

Kevin nods, taking everything in as Henry wraps up their session. “One thing at a time, Kev.” Henry says, “Tonight, you worry about your event and that boy you like, and tomorrow you can worry about Connor, okay?” 

Truthfully, Kevin feels better coming out of his call than he had going into it. 

Even if he’d had a stick up his ass the entire time, for good reason.

* * *

Kevin and Hercules arrive at the Student Center a full two hours before the start of his event; Kevin dressed up in a nice, patterned dress shirt and a pair of dress slacks, feeling a bit like he had back in Uganda, just minus the tie and nametag. 

Arnold will tell you that Kevin cares a great deal about his appearance, evidenced by the fifteen step skin-care routine he’d brought with him to Uganda, of all places, but Kevin feels better prepared when he’s put together, at least externally. Image matters a great deal to Kevin Price, because it had mattered a great deal to his dad. 

The building is mostly quiet, save the security personnel who wave to him as he swipes in, and the handful of students who mill about, completing homework or group projects. 

Kevin has, what he’s sure Henry would call, a  _ bad  _ habit of ducking his head to avoid running into anyone he may recognize, singularly focused on making it to Mrs. Brown’s office to get started on decorations and any remaining food preparation. 

“Oh, thank God you’re here.” Taylor Kennedy, the Student Government President, waves him in, almost as soon as he and Hercules have stepped off the elevator into the corridor of staff offices. “I don’t want you to panic,” She starts, and almost reflexively, Kevin starts to panic, “but our DJ cancelled last minute. Do you know anyone who can stand in on such short notice?” 

“Uh,” Kevin stammers, racking his brain, “I know someone who can stand in with a Spotify playlist and an AUX cord?”

Taylor looks to Mrs. Brown, before waving a hand through the air, “Perfect. Works for me.” 

“The pizza will be here in an hour, Kevin.” Mrs. Brown speaks up, “And Coach Harris dropped by the water cooler’s this morning. I just need you and Taylor to set and dress the tables with snacks, and then set out any signs we’ve made advertising the event. All of the snacks and decorations are on that sofa behind you, think you two can handle that in two hours?” 

“I’m positive.” Kevin smiles, even if he isn’t — it’s that same smile he’d been taught at the MTC, a little forced, a little too cheery and arguably, just a little too much teeth. 

“And Kevin,” she says, as Taylor grabs her share of bags, his smile waning, “I want you to enjoy this event. I do  _ not  _ want to see you on the frontlines serving pizza, people volunteered to help for a reason. If anything happens, it will defer to Taylor’s judgement and responsibility.”

Taylor nods in agreement, “This was a really good idea, Kevin, and we want you to utilize it to meet new people outside of your major, just like you intended, okay?” 

“I will not help no matter how very badly I want to.” Kevin promises, because he knows it’s expected of him, and Taylor and Mrs. Brown both look pleased with his response. 

“Even if someone’s bleeding out on the floor.” Taylor jokes, “Even if it’s me. We’ll defer to our Vice-President, Bri.” 

“Where is Bri, anyway?” Kevin asks as Mrs. Brown ushers them out of her office to finish her work. 

“She’ll be here in an hour.” Taylor says over her shoulder, “she’s taking some Yoga class.”

* * *

Kevin and Taylor make quick work of decorating, and Brianna shows up just in time to help with the snacks. 

Somewhere along the line, Kevin had double checked with Arnold to see if he’d be fine to DJ, to which he’d been met with an enthusiastic,  _ “I’ll curate a playlist right now!”  _ Truthfully, Kevin doesn’t expect anything less than a wide array of 70’s and 80’s pop/rock, but anything is better than the absence of music. Sometimes, music is all that’s needed to bring people together — that, and food. 

“Oh my God, Kevin!” Bri says, ripping into a bag of pretzels, “I totally forgot to tell you! I finally listened to your podcast!”

“Isn’t it good?” Taylor smiles, passing a plastic bowl her way and Bri nods enthusiastically. 

“I 100% would not have guessed you were a Mormon.” Bri says, as if it’s a compliment. 

“Really?” Taylor snorts before Kevin can get a word in edgewise, and she steps back to take Kevin in, her hands on her hips, “He’s got that 2012 presidential nominee Mitt Romney vibe.” 

Kevin’s not sure how to take that comment. “Uhm,” he says, at a loss, “I’m not a Republican?” 

“But you’re a Political Science major.” Taylor replies pointedly, and Kevin’s not really sure what she’s getting at.

“There’s more than one political party?” Kevin says, unsure why he’s phrased it like a question, but wholly confused by the entire interaction. Taylor waves a hand through the air, clearly on her own level of thinking. “...My dad went to college with Tagg Romney.” 

“What a weird name.” Bri comments. 

Kevin can’t help but smile at that, having always found the convention of mormon names a bit odd, and forever thankful his mother had stuck to ‘normal’ names for he and his five siblings, “His full name is Taggart.” 

Kevin’s saved from any further comparisons to the Romney family by Arnold himself, Nabulungi at his side, and after a quick round of introductions, Arnold is whisked off to set up his playlist on stage just as people start rolling in. 

“It looks nice in here.” Nabulungi compliments, her dress sparkling in the purple tinted lights they’d set up earlier, “You’ll have to introduce me to Elijah.” 

Kevin shoots her a warning look as he spots Michaels and Davis at the doors, and for as much as he resents the fact that Michaels can’t do more to help him, he knows that he can’t exactly blame him for his current roommate situation; and really, it isn’t until this very moment that Kevin realizes he’d managed to forget about Connor almost completely after his talk with Henry… that is until the crowd parts almost comically to reveal Connor stepping through the revolving doors, readily welcomed by Michaels and Davis. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Kevin sighs, and Nabulungi loops her arm through his. 

“You did invite him.” She says, even if it isn’t what Kevin wants to hear. “We have to at least say hi.”

Kevin tugs on another MTC approved smile, bracing himself for a situation he’d rather flee, flanked by Nabulungi on one side and Hercules on the other. 

“Kevin!” Davis greets with a cautious hug, and Kevin lets him into his personal bubble long enough to be socially acceptable before he pulls away.

“Glad you could make it!” Kevin says, perhaps a tad over enthusiastically, launching himself into full on host-mode to keep himself together, “Connor, Alex, glad you could make it.”

“We found this guy in the bathroom getting ready for your event, figured we’d let him tag along with us.” Michaels jokes, nudging Connor with his elbow. 

Connor laughs politely. 

Kevin doesn’t.

Davis shares a silent look with his boyfriend, it’s too soon to be joking about situations he can’t fix. 

“Connor,” Nabulungi says, to break the tension, “it’s nice to meet you. I’m Nabulungi.”

“You’re in the picture Kevin has above his desk.” Connor realizes, and Kevin’s eye twitches at the thought of Connor trying to get to know him through his belongings. Though, he supposes he’s made no real effort to let him get to know Connor otherwise. 

“Yes.” She smiles, “We met in Uganda, on Kevin’s Mission trip.”

“Former Mormon.” Kevin says, swallowing as he gestures to himself. He feels like he’s giving parts of himself away the more he reveals, even if it  _ is _ the name of his podcast. 

“That’s the name of your podcast, right?” Michaels asks almost as if he can read Kevin’s mind, and Kevin nods, gritting his teeth.

“It’s not  _ my _ podcast, it’s actually her husband’s.” He says modestly, always one to argue semantics in situations like these as he gestures to the stage, “It’s a class project, I’m just a co-host.” 

“Still, that’s exciting!” Connor offers, “I’ll have to check it out.”

Kevin spots Elijah out of the corner of his eye, already bee lining for his escape with Nabulungi in tow. “I’ll talk to you guys in a bit,” He excuses himself, “gotta make the rounds. You guys have fun!”

**_“Something happens and I’m head over heels,”_** Arnold’s music sings, with almost comedic timing as Kevin and Nabulungi make their way across the room, **_“I never find out ‘till I’m head over heels.”_**

“You made it.” He grins, and Elijah whirls around with a smile. 

“Yeah, I was in the neighborhood.” He shrugs nonchalantly, “Is this your girlfriend?”

“No.” Nabulungi laughs, “I’m married to the DJ.” 

“I was just going to ask about the music,” Elijah says, always ready with a joke, “didn’t know if Kevin’s seen any bunnymen recently, telling him the world’s gonna end in 28 days.”

“Uh?” Kevin stammers, the reference clearly lost on him.

Elijah waves a hand, “It’s a  _ Donnie Darko _ reference. You’ll have to watch it sometime. I might have a copy you can borrow.” 

“Maybe he can join us for movie night sometime.” Nabulungi offers, already playing wingwoman… to Hercules’ disadvantage, she can speak English.

Elijah shrugs, unopposed, “Just pick a night and let me know.”

“Well, I’m gonna—” Kevin gestures broadly, already gunning out of the conversation after it had advanced well past what he’d been prepared to handle. Kevin isn’t exactly one to make plans for  _ potential _ dates on a whim, “You have fun.”

Nabulungi is on his heels in seconds flat, breathing down his neck. “What was that?” She whispers with a hiss, reminding him of Kimbay’s firm guidance, “You said maybe five words total. One of them was ‘Uh?’”

“I panicked.” Kevin shrugs, “He’ll understand? Right?” 

If Nabulungi disagrees, she doesn’t say anything, attention briefly taken by Arnold who’s mouthing something to her from the stage.

**_“One, two, princes kneel before you.”_** The music shifts into the next song, **_“That’s what I said now. Princes, princes who adore you.”_**

And Kevin turns, feeling like he needs some water to cool off, only to run straight into none other than Connor McKinley, of all people. 

“I’m so sorry.” Connor says, reflexively. 

Kevin has a split second instinctive decision. Will he shut down or will he explode?

“It’s fine.” He says with a tight lipped smile, somewhere between the two, but dangerously close to either extreme. 

“I’ve been trying to find some time to talk to you today.” Connor starts, “I want to get this whole roommate thing straightened out, and actually Alex was talking to me on the way over on drafting a—”

“Can we do this later?” Kevin interrupts, “I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

Connor takes a step back to give him some breathing room, and Kevin darts out the first exit door with Hercules in tow before anyone can stop him. Sure, he’s grateful for the overall success of his first event, but there’s so many eyes on him tonight — there’s too many eyes on him tonight, really. 

Saved by the metaphorical bell, his phone lights up with a call from Jack well before he can even allow himself to fall down a pit of anxiety and overthinking — a pit Henry’s given him the tools to fill, he just chooses not to sometimes. 

“Hello?” He answers wearily.

“Kevin!” Jack greets, “I was hoping I’d be able to reach you… I, uhm, have some news, actually. Is now a good time?” 

“Is there ever such a thing as a good time?” Kevin asks miserably, as he takes to a bench to run his fingers through Hercules’ fur. 

“Woah,” Jack backtracks, “what’s going on over there?”

“I got a roommate.” Kevin explains, “And tonight’s my first Student Government event, and he’s here — actually, a lot of people are here, which is good, I guess, but overwhelming and this, uh, person… that I like is here. It’s just a lot, so I’m outside with Herc.”

“I didn’t know you liked anyone?”

“Yeah,” Kevin sighs, “I guess it’s on a need-to-know basis… and Nabulungi invited them over for a movie night, so things are just going a little bit faster than I’d like.  _ Everything’s _ progressing a little bit faster than I’d like, actually, and not to mention all at once.”

“Well, that’s life.” Jack sighs, “...Ethan and Sarah are pregnant, or rather, just Sarah via Ethan, because of the whole… uterus thing.” 

Kevin nods, relatively unsurprised. It was only a matter of time after his oldest brother’s wedding that he and his wife would be starting their own Mormon family. 

“She’s having twins, Kev.” Jack relays, and Kevin can only imagine how excited they are. “If you thought wedding planning was bad, now Grandma Price is here all the time wanting to help plan… everything.” 

“They’re gonna have some really stupid overly-religious names.” Kevin says, and dunking on both his former religion and his older brother bring him some of the joy he’d been missing. “And why doesn’t Sarah just go to Grandma’s house? Mom hates Grandma.” 

Jack barks out a laugh on the other end of the line, “Your guess is as good as mine, but Mom’s got things handled. She’s actually started picking Colin and Hannah up from school, just so she can leave the house — and get this, she’s even offering to help pick up  _ other people’s _ kids from school, from sports, you name it.” 

“Anything to get away from Grandma, I guess.” Kevin laughs with his brother, though Jack will never really know what it’s like to be hated by that woman. A wrath he, his oldest sister, and his mom had all felt. 

“If there’s a plus side to all of this, it’s that Mimi and Poppy finally get their first great grandchildren.” Jack says, “Well aside from Ellen’s cats, but they hardly count.” 

“Wait.” Kevin freezes, feeling like Jack had just dropped a bombshell despite his joking nature, “You talk to Ellen?”

The line is quiet for a moment. 

“Yeah.” Jack says softly, “I stood up in her wedding. It was… uhm… she needed two witnesses to get married at the Courthouse, and she and her husband are living down in Provo.” 

“Do Mom and Dad know?” Kevin asks. 

“No,” Jack sighs, “but I tell her about them, and you, and everyone else.” 

“She’s so close to BYU and Ethan doesn’t know?” Kevin asks, biting the inside of his cheek.

“No, he doesn’t, but you know how Ethan is.” Jack frowns, “He pretends she doesn’t exist.”

Kevin knows how Ethan is. Ethan pretends  _ he  _ doesn’t exist, and Sarah sends him sympathetic smiles whenever they see each other, but god forbid she ever tries to talk to him… It’s toxic, all around, really. 

“How is she?” Kevin swallows, wiping away Hercules’ eye boogers as they talk. 

“She’s good.” Jack promises, “They have, like, five cats and Ellen runs this coffee shop with free painting classes on Friday nights and she’s really proud of you, you know? She’d like to reach out… if that’s okay?” 

Kevin laughs, almost bitterly, but really he’s savoring the irony. “Sorry,” He says, shaking his head, “Henry’s been asking if I can get in contact with her and it just feels like… nothing ever goes my way, of course this is the one thing that falls into my lap.” 

“I’ll send you her contact info.” Jack offers, “She’ll be happy to hear from you.” 

“Hey, Jack?”

“What’s up?” 

“Not to make you the family secret keeper… but I’m bisexual.” Kevin admits, feeling a little lighter, and after a shitty day, no matter Jack’s reaction, it just feels good to get off his chest. 

“Dope.” Jack replies, and Kevin will take what he can get. He knows Jack’s mind is reeling to leave him with a good natured joke, but instead he says, “Your secret’s safe with me. Thanks for trusting me, Kev.” 

“Of course.” Kevin smiles, “Love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

The line goes dead, and Jack sends over a contact… Kevin’s finger lingers a little too long as he looks at the picture Jack had taken of his sister on her wedding day. Kevin hasn’t seen that face since he was six… and he’s twenty now. 

“There you are.” Nabulungi breathes, pushing the door open, both Connor and Davis in tow and she signals for them to hang back as she approaches him. “Do I need to call an ambulance? …Or Henry?”

“No.” Kevin shakes his head, wiping a hand down his face as if he can reset, “I just… needed to take a call from my brother. Ethan and Sarah are having twins.” 

“Fuck them kids.” Nabulungi says, and Kevin breaks into a genuine smile, even if Davis and Connor are slightly horrified. She always knows the right thing to say, even at times where Kevin doesn’t want to hear it.

Kevin waves a hand to clear the air, “Their dad is a Republican.”

“Oh,” Davis nods, “ _ that _ brother.” If Connor’s still lost, he doesn’t say anything, and Kevin’s grateful for that. 

“Yeah.” Kevin nods, gesturing towards the door, “Shall we?” 


	6. Chapter 6

Kevin has  _ a lot _ going on. 

Actually, that’s the understatement of the year… 

“How many shitloads do you think are in a fuckton?” Kevin finds himself asking Arnold out of the blue as they lock up STAR Labs at the end of their recording session. He’d spent his morning pointedly avoiding Elijah at the gym until he could scrounge up the right thing to say (of which, he still has not come up with), and there’s a slight shake to his hands after downing one Starbucks coffee too many, post workout. 

Arnold pauses in the doorway, seriously consulting the internet, “...So, Google says that there are 10 shitloads per metric fuckton,  _ whatever that means _ …” Innocently, he pockets his phone, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, “Why do you want to know?” 

Kevin blinks. He really hadn’t thought they’d get this far. How was he to know that Google had an answer for  _ literally _ everything?

“I—” He starts, “well, the point I was going to make is that I have more than  _ a lot _ going on right now, but, in actuality, it’s more like I have a  _ shitload _ going on right now.” 

“Hey!” Arnold grins, nudging Kevin’s elbow jovially, “That’s less than a fuckton!” 

Kevin doesn’t laugh, but he appreciates his friend’s humor nonetheless. 

“Kev, if you need a break, all you have to do is tell me.” Arnold says on a serious note, “I’ll just do an episode by myself, or I could bring on a guest…  _ ooh _ , I could bring on Naba! Oh, or another Mormon?!”

“Where are you going to find another Mormon on campus?” Kevin scoffs with an almost laugh at the sheer thought, his mind racing with an image of Arnold mormon-witch-hunting around their small campus as Hercules follows him down the stairs to the street entrance, “Are you gonna hold _ auditions _ ?” 

“Connor used to be Mormon.” Arnold shrugs, and Kevin nearly misses the last stair at the admission, only narrowly catching himself against the wall before he can faceplant. 

“Where’d you get that idea?” He asks, straightening himself with a wince as he rubs the part of his arm he’s banged against the wall

“Uh,” Arnold replies, momentarily taken aback by Kevin’s dramatics, “he told us? Naba, and Davis, and Davis’ boyfriend, and I.”

Kevin nods slowly, letting everything sink in. Part of him wonders if Arnold’s forgotten Michaels’ name.

“While I was talking to Jack?” He guesses, Arnold confirming with a nod and Kevin has this irrational and nagging desire to one up him, “Well, Jack told me that he and Ellen have been talking ever since she left.” 

“Ellen, like your sister?” Arnold clarifies, “The one who left when you were six?”

“Yeah.” Kevin sighs, “She’s 32 now, and I guess she has, like, five cats.” 

“You have one dog, so you’re, like, a fifth of the way there.” Arnold says pointedly, and Kevin’s hands shake as he tries to turn the key in the lock. “...Are you gonna talk to her?” 

“Eventually.” Kevin growls, struggling with the lock, and his anger isn’t directed at Arnold, but rather at his own shaky hands, “But today I have to draft my roommate agreement with Connor and Michaels, and then go work with Kim because Naba has the day off, and then I’ll see you and Naba for dinner, so today’s just  _ really _ not a good day to reconnect with my sister.” 

Wordlessly, Arnold takes the keys from Kevin’s hands, nudging him out of the way and in turn, Kevin relinquishes them with a huff, resigning himself to pace the sidewalk and clear his head. 

“Not to sound like your therapist, but can I offer you something to consider?” Arnold asks as he rejoins him and Kevin finds himself nodding, weakly. “Connor moved out of his last room for a reason— either immediate danger or failed conflict resolution like Michaels said. Just keep that in mind, and maybe, you know, invite him to dinner tonight? Get to know him. You’re more than welcome to invite him along.”

Kevin hates admitting when he’s in the wrong… but Arnold’s making a point he’d never considered. 

“I will... think about it.” Kevin breathes, and Arnold presses the keys into his palm, finally noticing just how bad Kevin’s hands are shaking.

“Jesus Christ, how many coffees have you had?” 

Kevin pauses, a hysteric laugh in the back of his throat, how does he always find himself in these situations?  _ Almost _ always on the precipice of a meltdown. 

“Enough to shit myself later.” Kevin confesses, laughing, despite all of the stress he’s put himself under.

“Well,” Arnold laughs too, “just make sure you get to a toilet on time — and don’t fall in.”

“I’ll try.” Kevin promises, solemnly. “And I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you tonight, Kev. You’re gonna rock this whole roommate thing.”

* * *

Arnold’s vote of confidence doesn’t stay with him long, but Kevin appreciates the sentiment as he arrives (early) to the agreed upon location, his leg bouncing wildly as Hercules tries to calm him. 

“I’m fine.” He says, mostly to himself as Hercules practically tries to crawl into his lap. For now, they’re alone in the fifteenth floor study room, “I’ll be okay. It’ll be fine. We’ve got this… I just  _ might  _ shit my pants.” 

“Oh, don’t do that.” Michaels jokes as he sinks into the seat across from him and Kevin looks up from where he’s scratching behind Hercules’ ears, his face growing red. He hadn’t even heard Michaels come in. 

“It was… I — figuratively, of course.” Kevin fumbles, silently cursing Arnold for even joking about it in the first place. 

Connor joins them not long after, sliding into his seat like a… baseball player onto first base. (Might Kevin add, while he came from an athletic family, the only sport he ever played was tennis and that didn’t last very long, so sports analogies are… a little beyond his  _ wheelhouse _ .)

“Sorry I’m running late, work ran long.” Connor says, and if he hadn’t said anything, Kevin wouldn’t have even checked his watch, “But I brought you guys coffees as an apology.” 

Kevin stares at the cup that’s set before him for a long time, shaky fingers still raking through Hercules fur… and needless to say, he will (once again) not be drinking The Grind’s coffee. 

“Oh, don’t even worry about it.” Michaels says waving a hand through the air to dismiss him and absolve Connor of any responsibility, like that of someone who’s schedule isn’t religiously kept as Kevin’s. 

Kevin’s eye twitches at that. 

“I’m ready when you are.” Connor promises, glancing at Kevin. Their pleasantries only go so far with Kevin’s flighty nature, and Connor’s still walking on eggshells around him.

“Alright, let’s get into it.” Michaels says a little too enthusiastically as he clicks his pen. 

They answer probably twenty questions total, about sleep times, study times, and guests and Kevin tries not to answer any question too quickly, but he finds Connor often cautiously defers to his judgement — offering compromises before ever thinking to push to get his own way. 

Kevin tries not to give too much of himself away; afraid if he agrees that they can’t use their phones during designated study times that he won’t be able to call Henry from the comfort of his own room, but that’s not something he wants to get into just yet, so he forfeits his compulsive desire to control the volume at all times for the privilege to call his therapist… even if Connor and Michaels can’t see the entirety of his internal struggle. 

“Any other concerns?” Michaels asks, reaching for his coffee, Connor throws a sideways frown at Kevin’s untouched cup, “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Michaels thinks he’s  _ sooooo _ funny. Kevin doesn’t agree.

“I’m just kidding.” Michaels adds after an awkward beat, “If anything comes up you guys can always come to me.”

“I think we’re all good here.” Connor decides in Kevin’s silence, and Kevin finds himself nodding along.

Neither of them seem to be in a hurry, Michaels scurrying off before Kevin’s even thought to get out of his seat — his head is swimming with all the new rules he’s just agreed to. Some of them are reasonable, well,  _ all of them _ are reasonable, Kevin just doesn’t like compromise or change all that much.

“...Is something wrong with the coffee?” Connor asks at the same time Kevin proposes, “Do you want to go to Olive Garden tonight?”

“Sorry,” Kevin fumbles reflexively, “no, nothing’s wrong. I just had, like, eight cups before.” He holds his hands out as evidence, feeling a bit like he’s giving a piece of himself away, but he’s trying to extend an olive branch here.

“Holy shit.” Connor whistles, lowly, “How are you not dead?”

Kevin doesn’t like that question. 

Sometimes, some deep part of him - that he tries to keep buried - wishes he was, or that he just didn’t feel so much. Henry had pulled him out of that dark place, but he wanders past it from time to time — tempting a look into the darker parts of his mind, like Pandora’s box. 

“I don’t know.” Kevin says evenly, his eye twitching, “...I thought Mormon’s weren’t supposed to swear.”

Connor looks up, almost surprised. “I’m not— I mean, not anymore. I was disowned? I’m gay.”

“Oh,” Kevin says, “yeah, they’re not too fond of that.”

“Or of creating a new religion, so I hear.” Connor offers in jest, but Kevin doesn’t really like to joke about it with people he doesn’t know that well. Some part of Kevin realizes that he’ll have to get to know him sooner or later.

“I suppose they’re both sackable offenses.” Kevin supplies, hoping it’ll suffice as he gathers his things, “Look, I have to go to work, but you’re welcome to come to dinner with Naba, Arnold and I.”

“I’d like that.” Connor smiles and Kevin nods dutifully. 

“I’ll swing by and get you after work then.”

* * *

“Kevin Price, did I ask you to pull my panties down and blow a compliment up my butt?” Kim snaps, wheeling on Kevin.

Kevin’s not quite sure how to respond. He thinks it’s a rhetorical question, but with Kim he’s never really sure. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, then he thinks better of it and absentmindedly moves to run his fingers along his name-tag lanyard, finding it best to just close his mouth until prompted to talk. 

“Did I?” Kim hisses, dropping the pair of jeans she was folding back into the return bin and turning on him like the fate of his life depends on his answer.

“No ma’am.” Kevin is quick to answer, because, well, he values his life. 

“Then stop sucking up and get back to work.” She says, shoving a stack of neatly folded jeans into his arms with enough force to send him stumbling backwards.

Obediently he and Hercules retreat to the jean wall, tails tucked between their legs, and Kevin doesn’t know what he’s ever done to Kim to end up on her bad side, but… he’s also not so sure she even has a good side. 

“Hi, welcome to—” Kevin begins out of habit, turning to greet none other than Connor. He blinks, cutting himself short, “uh, hi?”

“Hey.” Connor greets with a small wave, “I didn’t know you worked here?”

Kevin doesn’t know what to say to that either, so he doesn’t say anything at all. 

“Anyways,” Connor picks up, “I’m not, like, stalking you. I just need to get something for my friend’s boyfriend’s birthday.” 

“Well, let me know if you need any help.” Kevin nods awkwardly, forcing his best customer service smile as he turns back to the jean wall. He’s trying to be tolerant, he is, but through no true fault of his own, Connor McKinley keeps coming back like a bad cold that Kevin just can’t seem to shake. 

In time, Connor comes and goes. He buys a sweater for his friend’s boyfriend’s cousin’s sister’s whoever and Kim doesn’t ask Kevin to ring him up, just asks that he sweep the floor before the end of his shift, blaming any dirt on Hercules. — And Kevin’s not really sure if she can be fired for insulting a service dog, but he needs the job, so he sucks it up, biting his tongue so as not to insult her in return.

* * *

Kevin returns to  _ his _ dorm just in time to find Connor standing in front of the bathroom mirror, straightening his tie. He’s seen this scenario play out a thousand times before; getting ready for Church, at the Mission Training Center, on Mission, but something about it just seems so inherently tied to religion that it makes his stomach churn. 

“Hey,” Connor greets, carding a hand through his hair, “I didn’t know if we were supposed to dress up, so I just figured…” 

“It’s just Olive Garden.” Kevin shrugs, dropping his bag onto his designated chair. Why hadn’t  _ he _ thought to ask Arnold about the dress code? 

“So… should I lose the tie?” Connor asks, still fiddling with it in the mirror. 

“You look like a missionary.” Kevin says bluntly and Connor’s grateful, at least, for his candor. 

“I’ll take it off.” He decides, and he and Kevin move awkwardly around one another as Kevin rummages through his closet for a change of clothes. The best he can offer is a hunter green, vertically striped, quarter-zip pullover, but it beats the stuffiness of the Mission-approved button down. It also  _ might _ be Jack’s, but his brother’s never bothered to ask about it, so it’s his now. 

“Do you want me to pay for the Lyft?” Connor offers through the bathroom door once Kevin’s locked himself in the bathroom stall to change, Hercules lounging obedient and ready on the rug just outside.

“I can pay.” Kevin answers, scared to lose his autonomy, though he won’t admit it, “I usually get an XL… for Hercules.” 

“Kevin, the difference in price is, like, five dollars. It’s not a big deal, really.” 

It’s a big deal to him, but he won’t fight it. That’s the last thing they need before they sit down to dinner together for the next hour or so. He just loathes being indebted to other people, even if they don’t see it that way. “Fine.”

* * *

Connor talks to the driver the entire ride over. 

It does Kevin’s head in, even more so when they try to loop him into conversation. 

“Again, thank you so much.” Connor says, holding the door handle for Kevin and Hercules as they shuffle out of the car and onto the sidewalk. He slams the door behind them, waving to the driver with his free hand, the other hand already poised and ready to tip and rate their experience. “He was nice.” Connor comments as they head inside. 

Kevin doesn’t have anything to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all. Which, not to brag, but that’s kind of a big step for him. 

“Hi,” Kevin greets the hostess, “we have a reservation for four under the name Cunningham? I think my friends may be here already.” 

It takes the hostess a handful of seconds to track down their information. “If you’ll just follow me, right this way!” She says, a little too loud and too cheery for the ambient atmosphere. (In Kevin’s opinion.)

Arnold and Nabulungi are already seated in a booth beside one another, browsing through the menu when the hostess drops them off. “Connor, you came!” Nabulungi smiles as Connor takes the inner seat, Kevin on the edge with Hercules under his feet. 

“Thank you all for inviting me.” He says modestly, “I hope I’m not imposing.” 

“Don’t be silly,” Nabulungi waves him off, “you could never.” Oh,  _ but he could _ , Kevin thinks to himself. “It’s nice to see you and Kevin getting along.” She says, eyeing Kevin who hasn’t said a single word since he’d greeted the hostess. “How did the meeting go?” 

Connor glances at Kevin too, “I can’t speak for Kevin, but I think it went well. We came to some agreements, but I know that this is a bit of an adjustment for everyone.” 

Kevin doesn’t have anything productive to add, what with Connor taking up all the airtime. 

“How was work today, Kev?” Nabulungi asks, roping him into a conversation he can’t back out of. She’s good about keeping him included and accountable like that. 

“You know how Kim is.” He shrugs, “She yells at me for five hours and then I go home.” 

“Is that the woman who checked me out today?” Connor asks, lowering his voice, “...Because she was kind of a bitch.” 

“Yeah, that’s Kim.” Kevin submits as a waiter drops off salad and breadsticks for the table. 

“Connor, I wanted to ask,” Arnold starts, “would you want to guest star on the podcast? If Kevin has to take a break, maybe? Or even just to trade experiences?” 

If Kevin pulls his breadstick apart just a tad too aggressively, nobody notices; but it’s starting to feel like everyone’s replacing him for his shortcomings. 

“Yeah, I would love to!” Connor replies, dipping his own breadstick into the salad dressing, “I think that’d be a really cool experience.” 

“No pressure, of course.” Arnold adds after the fact. 

When the waiter comes around again, Kevin orders fettuccine alfredo. It’s not unlike Kevin to go straight for the simplest dish. Once he’s found a favorite, he doesn’t too often try new things. 

“Are you going to eat your pepperoncinis?” Connor asks and Kevin finds himself nudging his plate over with a little reluctance, Nabulungi watching wearily from across the table. He wasn’t going to, and sharing them is better than letting them go to waste, but still he’s stubborn and inundated with more Connor McKinley than he thinks he can handle. 

“Kevin, would you help me find the ladies room?” Nabulungi asks well before their food arrives, and Kevin knows he doesn’t really have a choice as they both slide out of the booth, Hercules at his side. 

“What’s going on?” She asks as they step out of the restaurant instead, into the cold night. “You’re not even trying to get along with him.” 

“I’m trying  _ very  _ hard.” Kevin argues, “But I’ve had a long day, and everywhere I go, there he is: doing the absolute bare minimum and everyone’s fawning over him.”

“That’s not true.” 

“It’s not?” Kevin laughs bitterly, “Arnold wants him on the podcast, you’re so happy to have him at dinner he could ‘never impose,’ and I have to share my  _ fucking  _ pepperoncinis with him.” 

“You don’t even like pepperoncinis!” Nabulungi fact checks him, “For all we know he doesn’t have anyone. It would be really awkward if he came to dinner and we all pretended he didn’t exist.” 

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that,” Kevin admits, “because I have nothing nice to say.” 

“Then don’t say anything at all.” Nabulungi says, “But I think  _ this _ is about a lot more than Connor.” She gestures wildly at him as she talks, and he finds himself folding his arms over his chest, shrinking into himself. 

“Then what’s it about?” He challenges, practically begging to be hurt, because he thinks he deserves it; but she’s already five-steps ahead of him, and she knows all of his ulterior motives like the back of her hand. 

Nabulungi shakes her head, “I’m not coming to your pity party, Kevin Price, but it’s high-time you learn to love yourself so you can see how much others love you.” 

Kevin scoffs, but she hugs him anyway. Sometimes it feels good to explode the way he just had, and Nabulungi's one of the few people who can keep him in check when he gets like that, his fuse so short he's at the precipice of a screaming match. 

“You’re an idiot.” She says into his chest. “You’ve got walls built so high, no one can get in.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally an update!! (i am so sorry this is so late)
> 
> as always, kudos and comments appreciated.
> 
> im on tumblr @afterafternoons

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I started this early November of 2019.  
> Then I gave up on it.  
> Then I rewrote it two hundred times.  
> Now, I need to put it out or I will let it stare at me forever and nothing will ever come of it.  
> So, please, please, please kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. I haven't written in a while and I'm honestly... kinda scared about how this will take.  
> And as always, you can come say hi to me on Tumblr @afterafternoons.
> 
> (Title is from Forever & Ever More by Nothing But Thieves.)


End file.
